Best Served Cold
by L J Groundwater
Summary: What happens when "And they sent the bad guy off to England" isn't the end of the story? Everyone at Stalag 13 is about to find out. Please read and review. Thanks.
1. Prologue

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belong to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

**Prologue: Six Months Earlier**

"Fire! It's on fire! Get everybody out!"

"Get all off-duty guards in place—we can't afford any escapes! Move it!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then do a roll call and make sure you can account for _every single_ man—if even one of these men escapes there'll be Hell to pay—and that'll be the _least_ of our troubles!"

"Right away, Major."

-- -- -- -- --

"What's your head count?"

"We're one short, sir."

"_Someone escaped?"_

"The guards swear not, sir!"

"Then where is he? Who is it?"

"I'll get the register, sir."

"Do it now—hurry! You—get two more men into that barracks; we have to see if anyone is trapped in there!"

"No can do, sir—it's too dangerous to send anyone in—we'll have to wait till the fire's out!"

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

James Kinchloe came up out of the tunnel underneath Barracks Two in a hurry. "Where's Colonel Hogan?" he asked Andrew Carter, who was sitting at the table of the common room.

"He's outside," Carter answered. He frowned when the Sergeant sped past him without explanation. "Hey, Kinch, what did London say?—Kinch?"

But Kinch was gone. Outside, the radio man looked around quickly in search of his commanding officer. He didn't consider it odd when he saw the man chatting casually with an armed prison camp guard.

Robert Hogan turned to Kinch as he approached. He frowned when he saw the look on the Sergeant's face. "What's up, Kinch?" he asked.

Kinch glanced at the guard, whose rifle was, characteristically for Stalag Luft 13, not remotely ready for firing, then turned away so only Hogan could hear him. "London called, Colonel. And they want to talk to you—like, _right now_."

Hogan shot a quick look back at the guard. "Got camp business to attend to, Corporal Schmidt," he explained with a shrug. The guard smiled, patted his pocket—was that the outline of a candy bar Kinch saw? Hogan was wheeling and dealing again—and waved the camp's senior prisoner of war away.

Hogan wasted no time getting straight to business. "What do they want, Kinch?" he asked.

"They wouldn't say, Colonel. All they said was they wanted Papa Bear on the line, pronto. They wouldn't talk to anyone else."

Hogan shook his head as the two of them entered the prisoners' living quarters. "I don't like the sound of that already," he declared. "Watch the door," he ordered Carter, then he pressed the release in the bunk that led to the network of rooms and tunnels below. He skipped half the rungs on the ladder with Kinch scrambling to keep up, and paced as the Sergeant flicked switches and pressed buttons to get back in touch with Allied Headquarters in London.

Hogan's mind was in a thousand different places as he waited. It was outside the prison camp in the woods of Nazi Germany, where he and two of his men had blown up their umpteenth bridge last night; it was in the office of the Kommandant of Stalag 13, Colonel Wilhelm Klink, where he had been this afternoon trying to wheedle more rations for the prisoners, or at least a little more hot water; it was in a little barn a couple of miles up the road, where Hogan had met with an Underground agent last week; it was at Gestapo Headquarters in Hammelburg, where he—and his men—had spent more time than anyone had ever wanted to. Hogan led the most widespread sabotage and espionage unit operating in Germany today—and most importantly of all, he was leading it right under the Germans' noses: below the POW camp where he had been assigned after being shot down.

For a little over a year now, Hogan had been eking out a life as a downed flyer. It had taken quite some time, but Hogan had gradually come to accept a life operating on the ground, instead of in the pilot's seat of a B-17. But whenever their contacts in London called, demanding to speak only to the leader of the operation, Hogan's stomach still tightened. It was one thing to be shot down by enemy fire while piloting a plane; it was quite another to have his operation uncovered and to be shot by a firing squad. Neither was desirable, but the latter was up close, and personal.

"I've got contact, Colonel," Kinch said at last. He held out the headsets and the microphone. Hogan nodded. "It's General Butler."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. _Oh, boy._ He took the offerings. "This is Papa Bear," he said. Then he listened. Kinch watched his face intently. Hogan furrowed his brow. Then he frowned. Then he frowned more deeply. Then Kinch saw him pale slightly, and loosen the collar of his shirt under his brown bomber jacket. "Are you sure, sir?" he asked. His voice was deadly serious. His dark eyes darkened even more. "Yes, sir. We'll take every precaution and await further word. Thank you, sir." Another pause. "Yes, sir. I appreciate you having the sub standing by, sir. Papa Bear out."

Hogan took off the headsets and handed them to Kinch as he put the microphone back on the desk. He said nothing; his mind wasn't even in the camp, the radio man realized. "Colonel?" Kinch said, prompting. No answer. The frown was still on Hogan's face. "Colonel Hogan, is everything okay?"

Hogan was quiet for another moment, then turned to Kinch. "Get upstairs, Kinch, and tell the others to gather up anything sensitive and get it into the tunnel. Get Le Beau to start a fire in the stove, and make it a big one. Have Carter wire up the tunnel to blow, and make sure Newkirk has at least one good Kraut uniform for each of us, the higher the rank the better. And papers to go with them. I'm coming right behind you to get anything incriminating out of my office. And no one goes out—and I mean _no one_—not till I give the all-clear. Everyone stays close to home. Got it?"

"Right, sir," Kinch acknowledged. "Colonel—what's going on?"

Hogan let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked up, Kinch noticed that the Colonel suddenly looked incredibly tired, and at least ten years older. "Headquarters called to warn us. There was a fire at the camp where they keep the people we've sent back—the ones who aren't very sympathetic to our cause. Their head count at the moment is short by one." He paused as Kinch's face grew even more somber, if that was possible. "So either someone's caught in the fire… or someone escaped. I hate to admit this, but I hope it was the former. But HQ won't know for sure until they can get inside the barracks. And by then, it could be too late for any of us to come out alive."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

"I'd be back in two hours, gov'nor."

"You couldn't make it in three."

Peter Newkirk registered the complete lack of humor in the Colonel's voice, and tried to force a smile out of him. "Come on, Colonel—I'm just going down to ol' Max's house; I'm a fully accepted member of their household. Even if the Krauts _do_ show up, they won't think anything out of sorts there. Unless they take a look at Max's old horse. I tell you, she's a wonder, that mare. Still being alive, and at her age, too."

But Hogan didn't buy it. His face remained stony. "You're staying home."

"But Colonel—"

"That's an order, Corporal. You stay in camp."

Newkirk sighed and shuffled his feet, looking at the ground. Hogan's sharp tone didn't invite any further protest. "Right, Colonel." He watched as Hogan turned, tense, and walked straight into his office. "Blimey," he muttered. "I've had that date set up with Leisl for two weeks."

"Well, then, you're better off waiting till Colonel Hogan gives us the all clear," Kinch said softly. "Otherwise, you might not live long enough to give her a good night kiss."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

"What did you find?"

"There was a body in the rubble, sir."

"Identifiable?"

A grimace. "Only by the dog tags."

"And?"

"He's one of ours."

"Thank God. Notify General Butler. Papa Bear should know."

"It'll be a relief to him."

"It is to _me_. That bastard was a scary son-of-a-gun. I always felt like he was watching me… even when he wasn't around."

"Well, he won't be watching anybody now."

"Not unless he's looking _up_."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

"Okay, fellas, we can stand easy," Hogan announced as he came back up from the tunnel. "Headquarters says everyone has been accounted for after the fire at the prison camp."

"That's a relief," Louis Le Beau declared, muttering a prayer of thanks in French under his breath.

Newkirk agreed. "Any one of those maniacs'd stop at nothing to spill the beans about the operation to one of their pals back in the Fatherland."

"Wouldn't be very good news for us," Kinch said. "What happened, anyway, Colonel?"

Hogan shrugged. "All I was told is, there was a fire and one person didn't make it out. They sent a warning just in case, but now they're sure: there were _no_ escapes."

"What made them put all those people together?" asked Carter. "I mean, why didn't they detain them the same way the other POWs are detained?"

"Are you kidding?" Le Beau retorted. "All the prisoners in that camp know something about the operation. We can't have them spreading it around to other people."

"That's right," Hogan agreed. "We're an extremely classified operation, Carter, and that makes us pretty vulnerable if someone gets out of Allied hands. The people we send back are housed in very special accommodation for the duration of the war. If they're talkative, our secret only spreads to other people who already know. And there are more people guarding them than look after the President."

"Or the Prime Minister," Newkirk piped up.

"Or _both_," Hogan finished with a short nod. "In any case, it's nothing to worry about. We can come off alert status. It's nice to know someone was looking after us just in case. But it's back to business as usual tonight. We have a job to do—and there's never enough time to do it."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

His face brightened with the tiniest trace of a smile as he watched Hogan and his men laughing in the compound through his high-powered binoculars. _I'm so glad to see Papa Bear is comfortable in his den again_. _After all, there's no reason to be afraid any more; everyone was accounted for after that fire last week. All the big, bad Nazis. Even that one who was killed._ He tutted in mock regret. _The poor man. It's so fortunate his dog tags were there to help the authorities identify him._

_Too bad the body was borrowed._


	2. Chapter 1, The Present

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters is LJ Groundwater's; this chapter has a sprinkling of nomdeplume13 in it as well.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

"Colonel Hogan, I want to know where you were at eleven o'clock last night."

The muscles in Hogan's jaw tensed. He had been told everything was quiet while he was out of camp last night. But here was the Kommandant asking questions. Had he been seen? He pasted a convincing smile on his face even as he felt the sweat bead up around his collar and under his cap. "I was in my bunk, sir, right where I was expected to be."

Klink shook his head as he waggled a finger up toward the senior POW. "No, Hogan, you were _not _in your bunk at eleven o'clock last night. You were not in your bunk at _eleven_ o'clock, or at _twelve_ o'clock, or even at _one_ o'clock."

"I wasn't?"

"No." Klink stood up and came around the desk. "You were trying to escape."

Hogan swallowed hard and tried to chuckle. "What? Now come on, Kommandant, you know I'd never do anything like that to you—"

"Oh, but you _would_, Hogan! You tried to escape and ruin my perfect record with Berlin. And of course that meant I had to stay in camp last night and supervise a search for you!"

Klink's smile was making Hogan more than a little nervous. "But Kommandant, I'm telling you, I was right here!"

"And _I_ am telling _you_, Colonel Hogan, that you were out of your barracks last night, and so I had to remain in camp all night long to make certain you were found before you could escape." Klink kept smiling as he crossed his arms over his chest. "That is, if you want your men to have the new axes for the wood-cutting detail that we discussed last week."

Hogan's eyes narrowed as he folded his arms tightly in front of his chest, unconsciously mirroring Klink. Winter was coming; there had already been one or two light snowfalls. His men needed to keep warm, and their old axes wouldn't really do the job. He decided to play the game. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Kommandant? That you want me to _lie_ about being in the barracks last night? You know, escape attempts are frowned upon, and I've always promised you as an officer and a gentleman that I wouldn't be involved in any such nonsense. It's dangerous for me and for my men, sir, and you know their safety comes first."

"No, Hogan, I don't want you to_ lie_, exactly." Klink paused as he seemed to redirect his thinking. "You have asked me for the favor of getting new axes for your men. All I am asking for is a favor in return."

Hogan didn't move. "I'm listening."

"It's quite simple, really. All you need to do, if someone asks you about last night, is to say that you were trying to execute an escape plan, but my presence stopped that from happening."

Hogan studied Klink more intently. Then his eyes lit up as he realized what was actually happening. "You're asking me to give you an alibi!" he declared. His eyes became thin, suspicious slits. "What's going on?"

"Do you recall _Frau_ Linkmeyer, Hogan?"

The American shuddered involuntarily. The sister of General Albert Burkhalter had made an appearance in camp more than once in the last year, invariably accompanied by her sturdy, powerful sibling. And when they arrived together, Klink _invariably_ turned to Hogan for help. Especially since either one or both of the visitors was usually looking to tie the Kommandant down in the marital sense. And Hogan couldn't let even Klink succumb to a fate like that. "Certainly, sir," he said finally, almost heartily. "A sturdy woman."

"_Ja_, as you say, a 'sturdy woman.'" Klink let out a long-suffering sigh and leaned forward in his chair. "She is in town, and had sent me a dinner invitation for last night. However, I was already otherwise engaged—" Cutting himself off mid-sentence, he shook his head. "'Engaged'; now there is a word I never want to hear in relation to her, unless it is in connection with _someone else_. But it seems she finds me irresistible, Hogan, even though I find her _quite_ resistible. But if she should find out that I was already on a date with another woman..."

Hogan had felt the knot in his stomach loosening up more and more as the Kommandant spoke. So, Hogan had not been caught out of camp last night. And Hogan was not being cornered for some other indiscretion that Klink had found out about. This wasn't about unauthorized activities at all; this was about saving Klink from a chilly ride eastward if anyone found out he was wining and dining some other poor, blind woman, while Gertrude Linkmeyer played spinster at home.

Hogan's face broke out in a wide grin. "Another woman, eh?" he replied. "Well, Kommandant, somehow I think there's more to be gained by refusing your offer than accepting it. We can always work a little harder with those old axes. Might just be worth it for the entertainment value of getting to watch you run across the yard to get away from _Frau_ Linkmeyer the next time she comes into camp!"

Klink raised an eyebrow at the American's response. "Colonel Hogan, may I remind you that when _Frau_ Linkmeyer is here, her brother, General Burkhalter, usually comes with her? And I don't recall you being the best of friends with him."

Hogan swallowed uncomfortably, knowing he was cornered. Burkhalter wasn't as stupid as Klink, and although he could be fooled, at least for a short time, Hogan knew it was a big risk to _invite _someone like the General to become a permanent fixture in the camp.

Klink interrupted Hogan's thoughts. "So, do we have an understanding?"

Hogan blew out a breath of surrender. "All right, Kommandant," Hogan said. "And don't worry, sir; I don't think you could let any little woman take over your camp."

"Whoever said _Frau_ Linkmeyer was a _little_ woman?" Klink retorted. "Besides, it's not her I'm worried about; it's her big brother." He frowned. "What am I saying? Of course I'm worried about them both!"

Hogan considered, then relaxed his arms and smiled, nodding. "All right, Kommandant, I think we can come to an understanding." He paused just a beat. "But it's gonna cost you more than the axes."

Klink slumped a bit in his chair. "All right, Hogan. What else do you want?"

Hogan screwed up his face as though deep in thought. "Well," he said, reaching out a hand to gently caress Klink's humidor, "this is a pretty big favor, you know, Colonel. You're asking me to say I was trying to escape—not something Germans tend to look fondly on. I could be punished for that kind of activity. And of course, it'll also put me in an unfavorable light with General Burkhalter." An exaggerated sigh. "_But_… since it's you, Kommandant, and since it _is_ for a… reasonably_ noble_ cause…" A dramatic pause. Klink held his breath. "I think an extra hour of electricity for the men for two weeks might be appropriate." Finished, Hogan stopped fingering the cigar box and looked up at the German with an almost-innocent smile.

Klink snatched up the humidor, giving Hogan an annoyed glance as he buffed the fingerprints off with the edge of his sleeve, then carefully set it down well out of Hogan's reach. Knowing he was cornered, but unwilling to cave in immediately, Klink protested proudly, "That's too much. You may have either half an hour for two weeks, or an hour for one week. Your choice."

"Fifty minutes for twelve days." Hogan's eyes bored into Klink's. "Come on, Kommandant. It's worth it."

"Agreed." A pause as Klink half-expected Hogan to push further. When he didn't, the Kommandant added, "That is all, Colonel."

Hogan nodded, satisfied. "Colonel Klink, you're a reasonable man. Last night, I was trying to escape."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

"So what did ol' Klink want, gov'nor?" Newkirk asked when Hogan came back to the barracks.

Hogan grinned. "Just a bit of underhanded… _protection_," he said. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged when Newkirk gave him a questioning look. "He wants me to say I was trying to escape last night, so he has an alibi for not showing up for a dinner date with Gertrude Linkmeyer."

"You're joking, right? You mean 'e had a date with General Burkhalter's sister and he had the brass to stand her up?" Newkirk's grin matched Hogan's at the thought. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall when he has to explain _that_."

"It _may_ just backfire on him. Y'see, Klink had to stay in camp, to stop me from getting out. And it must have worked, right?" Hogan spread his arms. "Because here I am."

"So... he's got to count on you as an excuse to dodge another one then." Newkirk shook his head. "That might be fairly unfavorable for him, but quite favorable for us." He smirked, then changed the subject. "Kinch is looking for you, Colonel. He says London's got a job on for us and they want to have a word with you about it."

"Don't they always?" Hogan retorted. He sighed. "All right, I'd better go see what's so important that London wants to tell me personally. Unfortunately, that usually means I'm not gonna like it."

Hogan assigned a look-out and then hopped nimbly down the ladder to the tunnel, with Newkirk close behind. He came up alongside Kinch, summing up the gravity of the situation with a glance. "Who's on the horn?" he asked, reaching for the headsets and microphone the Sergeant held out to him.

"General Butler, and he sounds like he's in a hurry about it," Kinch said, shaking his head in wonderment at how quickly the brass in London could seem to forget the circumstances in which Hogan operated. _Hurry? What if he happened to be with a __**Kraut**__?_

Hogan heaved a sigh as he raised the microphone to his mouth. "This is Papa Bear; go ahead Goldilocks."

The radio crackled to life in Hogan's ear. "We have a big one for you, Papa Bear. We're throwing a party for your landlord sometime in the next few weeks and are inviting a lot of guests. They'll be passing through your area soon, and we need to know how many to expect so we set enough places for dinner."

"The caterers will need to find out meal preferences as well," the Colonel said. "And any special dietary requirements." Hogan's men looked at each other impatiently when his coded answer shed no light on what was going on.

"The sooner, the better, Papa Bear." Hisses and static pops came through the headsets along with the reply. "You know how fussy the cooks can get when they don't have time to prepare everything."

Hogan glanced up at his confused men. "I'm sure they want to deliver hot food, on time." A pause. "When exactly is your party planned for?"

"As soon as the guests arrive."

Hogan blinked his eyes open wider and ran a hand across his mouth. His men saw the sign of a big assignment from London and shifted uneasily. "Will do, Goldilocks. The caterers might need a bit of time to come up with all the details. Do they have your permission to act as they see fit?"

A particularly bad squeal made Hogan wince, but the next few words came over loud and clear. "Negative. Do not hire any extra staff for the party, and do not spoil the surprise by handing out any party favors."

"Affirmative, Goldilocks. Any other instructions?"

"Negative, Papa Bear. We need that guest list as soon as possible. Goldilocks out."

"Papa Bear over and out." Hogan pulled off the headsets and handed them to Kinch, then put the microphone back on the desk. Then he took a few seconds to gather his thoughts, still dissecting everything that had been said, and all the peril that had been put upon his men, in those few cryptic exchanges.

"What's all that about?" Newkirk asked, irked at listening to half a conversation that made no sense to him at all.

Hogan didn't answer right away, already processing the requirements of the job ahead of them, and creating ideas and then discarding the ones that would place the men in any more danger than absolutely necessary. He drew his eyebrows close together as he concentrated, crossing his arms and then bringing one hand up to rest against his mouth. "We're gonna have to approach this carefully," he muttered, ignoring the question.

Newkirk started to reply, but an elbow in the ribs from Le Beau silenced him. "Quiet, Pierre. Let _le Colonel_ have time to think before for you bother him with all of your questions."

Hogan spent another few seconds sorting things out in his head, then dropped his hand and turned to his men. "London's given us a big one. They want us to give them as many details as possible about the number and type of German troops heading through here in the next couple of weeks, including exactly where they're headed, and what kind of armaments they're bringing with them. They're planning a big offensive, and they don't want any surprises."

"Does that mean we're gonna be waiters at the _Hofbräu_ again?" Carter asked.

Hogan shook his head. "Not this time," he replied. "London doesn't want the Underground involved. Just us. And that's another thing," he added, with a pointed look at his explosives expert: "no sabotage. It's observe and report only. Intelligence, not activity."

The young Sergeant's face fell at the news. "Oh. Well, I guess if that's the way Headquarters wants it, that's the way we have to do it." A sudden hope: "Hey, Colonel, couldn't we take care of just one small train for them?"

Hogan smiled tolerantly. "Not even a teeny weeny caboose. Sorry, Carter. No attention to be brought to our area at all."

"Does that mean we're stopping all activity around here for awhile, Colonel?" Kinch frowned as he thought it over. "If so, we'd better get a message out to the local Underground leaders telling them to lie low."

Hogan thought for a minute. "No," he answered finally. "_No_ activity would be just as suspicious as _too much_ activity. But make sure they know not to do _anything_ within a five mile radius of this camp."

"Hang on a minute, Colonel," Newkirk said. "The Kommandant's going to be keeping you on a short leash so you'll be at hand to back him up with _Frau_ Linkmeyer. That'll mean a lot of surprise bed checks and extra roll calls just so he can make himself look too busy to leave camp."

Hogan heaved a heavy breath. "That's right. So I'll have to come up with a few ingenious ways of getting Klink to let you out of camp in broad daylight—with his blessing, but without me. I'll join you as often as I can." Hogan pursed his lips and shook his head. "I don't mind saying I don't like it. Klink's gonna keep on me every minute, and that leaves a lot of this in your hands. I don't like asking you to do it."

"It's nothing we have not done before, _Colonel_," Le Beau said with a shrug. "Unless, that is," he added with a tiny sprinkle of humor, "you do not trust us to do it without you."

Hogan's face registered surprise and mock indignation. "And where would you be without me to take the brunt of Klink's lovelorn ramblings?" He smirked. "I'd rather be taking my chances with the _regular_ Krauts—somehow rifles don't seem nearly as dangerous as Cupid's misdirected arrows."


	3. Chapter 2, The First to Go

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

His arms crossed both out of irritation and to keep the still-chilly weather out, Hogan glared once more at the German officer standing in his fur-lined overcoat beside him. "Really, Colonel Klink, I'm perfectly capable of waiting for my men without you standing right on top of me. Where do you think I'm gonna go in the middle of the camp in broad daylight?" A small scowl. "You should have let me go _with_ them."

"It is not necessary for you to accompany each and every work detail that leaves this camp, Colonel. You knew they were to be gone for three days. Besides, have I not allowed you to speak with one of your men each evening via telephone?" Klink gave the American officer a long look. "You have heard from them _directly_ that there have been no problems and that they have had humane treatment. I cannot understand why you are being so difficult about this."

"Maybe I don't necessarily trust the word of a man I can't see who might have a gun pressed into his back, forcing him to say everything's perfect." _And because I haven't been able to get all of the information that Le Beau used our secret code to tell me he and Carter have gathered._

Klink drew himself upright in indignation as Hogan's words struck home. "Colonel Hogan. Have I not always treated you and your men as decently as I can?" He paused, looking the American directly in the eyes as he went on. "Why do you think I would allow your men to be treated any differently simply because they are out of this camp?"

"It's not _you_ I'm worried about; it's the men who are out of your sight—and _my_ sight—that bother me."

Klink had a retort ready, but the words went out of his head when a large truck rolled up to the camp, barely stopping long enough to allow the main gate to be pulled open. The truck sped through the entrance and screeched to a halt only a few feet from where the two officers were standing. Corporal Karl Langenscheidt jumped out of the passenger seat and ran over to Klink, hastily bringing himself to attention and saluting.

"_Herr _Kommandant, we are back," the young guard said in a rush.

"Very good, Langenscheidt," Klink said with a nod, returning the salute. His face dropped when he noticed the Corporal looking distressed and nervous—and not quite through with his report. "What is that matter, Langenscheidt?" he asked with a touch of impatience.

"I—I beg to report, _Herr_ Kommandant," he stammered, giving Hogan a worried glance before he continued. "Two of the prisoners are missing, sir!"

Hogan raised an eyebrow, looking with just a little more attention at the truck several yards away, where the prisoners who had been on the detail were disembarking and heading back to their respective barracks.

Klink spluttered into action beside him. "Missing?" he repeated, the volume of his voice rising with what Hogan was knew was pure panic. "What do you mean _missing_?"

"Two of them went to get firewood this morning and did not return, sir. I sent out a search party at once, but we couldn't find them." Langenscheidt pleaded even further as he added, "I left two men to continue the search and brought the rest back here before anyone else went missing."

Hogan's mind was reeling. _Who blew it?_ he thought with some anger. _Every man who goes out of this camp knows he can't escape without me organizing it so it doesn't ruin Klink's record. We need to keep this fool in place to protect the operation!_ "Who's gone?" he blurted out, then realized that Klink had said the same thing, at the same time.

Langenscheidt blanched as his eyes darted from one Colonel to the other, and he wasn't exactly sure which of them he was answering when he replied, "S-sergeant Carter and Corporal Le Beau, sir."

Hogan's jaw dropped even as Klink turned toward him. "They didn't escape!" Hogan announced to the outraged man beside him. _What the hell happened?_ "They must have been—uh—misplaced!"

"I have no time for your American sense of humor right now, Hogan. All prisoners are confined to barracks until further notice, and you may include yourself in that as well," Klink snapped, then turned back to Langenscheidt. "You, on the other hand, will organize a detail of two squads, and you will return to that farm at once. I expect progress reports from you every two hours, but you will not return until you have found those men. Do I make myself clear, Corporal?"

"_Jawohl, Herr _Kommandant," the young man said with a difficult swallow. He quickly—and with considerable relief—ran back to the truck to fulfill his orders.

"Look, I'm tellin' ya, they didn't escape!" Hogan repeated angrily. "I made you a promise that wouldn't happen, and they promised _me_ they wouldn't try it. And I trust my men!" He paused, a mixture of fear and anger swirling inside of him. "Something must have happened to them."

"Yes, something happened to them, all right: they _escaped_." Klink gave his senior prisoner of war officer a hard look. "Unless you are suggesting that they both fell down a well at exactly the same time. Now, I gave you an order, and I expect it to be carried out. Dismissed." Then he spun on his heel and stalked across the compound, heading for his office.

Hogan glared after the Kommandant for a few seconds, then walked, tight-fisted, back to Barracks Two and slammed the door behind him.

The bang right next to his head jerked Newkirk awake from his nap. "Here now, gov'nor," he grumbled, "ease up on the noise, will you? We were up half the night scouting for Kraut troops; I'm tryin' to get some sleep here."

"Well, get up. There's no time to sleep right now; Carter and Le Beau are missing." Hogan didn't even look in the Englishman's direction as he moved further into the room. With too much nervous tension to sit down, he immediately began pacing back and forth, already thinking in several different directions.

"What did you say, Colonel? They've gone missing?" Newkirk rolled off the bunk, landing lightly on his feet as he stared at Hogan. "What happened, sir?"

The bunk that covered the tunnel entrance rattled upward, and Kinch, who had almost been ready to step off the ladder, stopped and gave Newkirk a curious look. "Did I hear you right, Newkirk? Someone's missing?"

"Not just _someone_; Le Beau and Carter. They didn't come back with the work party," Hogan said, stopping his determined pace long enough to focus on the radio man. "They went into a barn to get firewood and never came back out."

Kinch scrambled into the room, giving the hidden catch a hurried slap so the bunk would lower itself back into place. "That's crazy! They know better than to do something like that, not without a good reason. Have any of the other men from the work detail said anything about it yet?"

"I just _said_ they went in; they didn't come back out." Hogan's tone was short, his words punchy and impatient. "Klink confined me to barracks before I had a chance to talk to anyone." He shook his head. "I don't like it. It doesn't smell right." He locked his eyes on the two men who were staring at him so intently. "Something went wrong."

"I can go out and look 'round, gov'nor," Newkirk suggested, now wide awake and worried. "I can have my little old _Frau_ Newkirkberger disguise ready to go in about ten minutes."

Hogan shook his head again. "No one goes out. Not yet." He turned decisively to Kinchloe. "Kinch, get on the radio to the Underground. See if Carter and Le Beau have checked in."

"Yes, sir."

"If that pans out, tell the Underground to fan out and start looking. Then make sure they weren't caught by the Gestapo; our contact in the Hammelburg headquarters should have seen them if they were."

"Right, Colonel." Kinch turned, ready to head downstairs.

But Hogan was still thinking of options. "And check that they haven't been in contact with any of our connections in Paris."

"Right."

"Then get on the radio to London." An uncomfortable pause. "Make sure they're not heading home… just in case."

Newkirk spoke up right away at this last order. "Colonel, Louis and Andrew wouldn't have headed off without telling anyone. They've promised to stay and help fight—"

But Hogan was ready with an answer. "We _don't know_ what they've done, Newkirk. And we can't take any chances. If they decided the time was good to get out, they may have contacted London and asked for help."

Kinch and Newkirk both stared at the Colonel in disbelief. "But Colonel, they—"

"They couldn't have just _vanished_ into thin air; someone must have seen them, and _I_ wanna find out _who_!" Hogan snapped angrily. The silence that descended on the room after the officer's outburst was tense. Hogan realized the impact his harsh declaration had made and took in and let out a long breath through his mouth. "I'm sorry," he said, ashamed at his explosion but not yet past the emotions that caused it. "Look, I… I just want to know they're okay. If they went home, I can live with it. But not knowing…" Hogan shook his head, unable to finish the thought. "It's my fault," he said finally, crossing his arms and lowering his head. "I should have found a way to make Klink let me go with them."

"It's not your fault, sir. You know it's not like them to pull a trick like this." Newkirk shook his head. "There's got to be a reason for it somewhere."

"You're right, Newkirk. There _is_ a reason somewhere. And I'm not gonna sleep until I know what it is." He looked back at Kinch, his face an unguarded mask of worry, then urged quietly, "C'mon, get on the radio, huh?"

Hogan watched as Kinch disappeared back into the tunnel. Finally, he turned to Newkirk. "Let's get talking to the fellas who came back from the work detail. See if they heard anything or saw anything that might help us figure out what happened."

"Right, sir."

"Go through the tunnels—we're officially confined. Most of the men who went are in Barracks Six. I'll see what I can get out of the guards."

"Right." Newkirk turned toward the tunnel entrance, pausing before he stepped onto the ladder. "Best be careful, Colonel. They might not favor having you outside just now."

"I'm sure they _won't_," Hogan answered. "But if we don't find out something soon, we'll be in just as much trouble in here as out there."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

"All right, I'm going out," Hogan said that night, emerging from his quarters dressed all in black, and with grease already darkening his face. "I'm going to ask some questions and see if I can't get any answers." _And pray I don't stumble over their bodies along the way, _he added inwardly_._ But he kept that thought to himself.

Kinch was at the sink, rinsing out the coffee pot. "It's too dangerous out there right now, Colonel," he countered. "The woods are gonna be crawling with trigger-happy Krauts."

Hogan nodded once as he headed for the bunk that hid the tunnel. "Yep. And that's exactly why you're _both_ staying here," he said, with a pointed look in Newkirk's direction. "I'm going out quietly, I'm coming back quietly. The fewer footsteps out there, the less likely it is that a patrol is gonna hear anything." Kinch's unconvinced look prompted Hogan to continue. "Look, all our leads came up blank. We have no idea what we're looking for because we have no idea what happened." He paused to take in a breath; why did that seem so difficult when he was talking about his missing men? "I've just got to…" His voice trailed off. What _did_ he have to do? "I just have to convince myself that they're not out there somewhere trying to get back."

"Okay." Kinch traded looks with Newkirk, and for once, the Englishman didn't say anything. "Just be careful."

"That's my middle name," Hogan quipped, almost but not quite managing a smile. He stepped onto the ladder and began descending to the tunnel passages below. "I'll be back before two; I managed to get out of Schultz that Klink is planning one of his surprise bed checks tonight." He paused as his head was about to disappear. "Hold the fort."

As soon as the bunk had clattered into place, Newkirk moved away from the common room table and turned to his bunk. Reaching under his blanket, he pulled out a bundle of black clothing and dropped it onto the table. "I'll give him ten minutes to get clear," he said as he removed his battle dress jacket.

Kinch just stared at him. "What are you doing? You heard the Colonel—_ hold the fort._ No one goes out. You _were_ standing in the room when he walked through, weren't you?"

"I was, but you've gone round the twist if you think I'm letting him go out there alone." The last few words were muffled as Newkirk tugged his blue jumper over his head. "I'm just going to shadow him an' make sure he stays out of trouble."

"And who's gonna keep _you_ out of trouble?" Kinch muttered, not quite to himself. "Look, if the Colonel catches you out there, you're dead. And if you _both_ get in to trouble, it's gonna be _twice_ as hard for me to get you _both_ out of it."

"And how are _you_ gonna know we're both in trouble?"

"Because I'm gonna be right behind you. Hurry up and get dressed; I've already got my blacks on under my uniform." A sly grin followed. "And _I_ don't have to put on any greasepaint."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Wilhelm Klink strode down the stairs of the _Kommandantur_ looking slightly ruffled, and less than well-rested. He had already called for the report of Sergeant of the Guard Hans Schultz, who was standing in front of the prisoners of Barracks Two, frowning unhappily. Klink came to a halt a few feet in front of the prisoners. "Well, Schultz? What is your report?"

"_Herr_ Kommandant, there are thirteen men in Barracks Two this morning." The large, soft-hearted guard glanced almost sadly in Hogan's direction as he said, "All that were here last night."

"Thank you, Schultz," Klink said shortly. He looked at his senior prisoner of war. "Hogan, you are looking very _pale_ today. Did you not get enough sleep last night?"

Hogan stared back at Klink sullenly. "As a matter of fact, I didn't," he retorted. "I think it had something to do with being woken up at two o'clock in the morning to see if I was where I _always_ am at that hour."

"Is that all?" Klink asked sarcastically. "I'm surprised you didn't try to escape last night yourself… to follow your men, Le Beau and Carter, to wherever it is they have gone."

Hogan's face grew dark. "I told you already, Kommandant, they _didn't escape_. I'd appreciate it if you could organize another search for them for today. I'd be more than happy to help."

"Of course you would," Klink said: "so you can divert more attention away from the men who remain. Who are probably also planning some elaborate scheme to get out!" Klink shook his head. "No, Hogan. My guards will not be going back out." He straightened. "Schultz, dismiss the prisoners. Hogan, I'll see you in my office."

Schultz watched as Klink headed back to his office. Then he looked at the prisoners dispersing and said in a low voice to Hogan, "Colonel Hogan, Carter and the Cockroach—they are not going to show up again soon, the way they usually do?"

Hogan shook his head. "I wish they were, Schultz," he said, staring at the ground. "I'd give almost anything to have that happen right about now."


	4. Chapter 3, The Truth Hurts

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline are LJ Groundwater's. Thanks.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Klink was waiting when Hogan walked into the office, and barely acknowledged the sketchy salute offered by the other Colonel. "I want some answers, and I want them now. You are quite certain that your men did not escape, and I want to know why."

Hogan just shook his head. "I can't tell you that."

"That's not good enough!" Klink snapped in reply. "You gave me your _word of honor_ that there would be no escape attempts, and look what has happened! Two prisoners, men who live right in _your_ barracks, have vanished without a trace! How can you expect me to stand here and listen to you say you have no idea how it happened?"

"Because it's the _truth_!" Hogan snapped back. "I told you they wouldn't try to escape, and they _didn't_. I want you to go back out and try to find them. They must be in some kind of trouble."

"They are not the only ones that are going to be in trouble if they are not found and returned at once." Klink circled behind his desk and dropped heavily into his chair. "It is quite possible that every man in this camp will be in some sort of, as you say, _trouble_."

Hogan frowned deeply as he looked down at the Kommandant. "Every man in camp?"

"Yes, Hogan." Klink leaned forward, elbows on his desk as he stared at the neat stacks of paperwork that awaited his attention. "Every man. German and American alike."

"Why's that?" Hogan asked, very certain he wouldn't like the answer.

Klink didn't move, nor did he say anything for several long moments. When he finally did look up, he gave Hogan a long, searching look. "Because General Burkhalter left Berlin first thing this morning, and should be arriving here within a few hours. He was most displeased when he heard about the missing prisoners."

Hogan grimaced. He had considered the effects of the loss of Klink's perfect "no escape" record, but had pushed that problem to the back of his mind, more concerned about the fate of his men than Klink's issues. "Well, you can tell him I'm pretty displeased as well," Hogan said grimly. "And don't you think if we told him there was some sort of foul play involved, it would go over better than an escape?"

"There is no evidence of any sort of foul play, Hogan. My men have been over the area repeatedly, and there simply isn't anything to be found."

"I'm telling you, Kommandant, it's not right!" Hogan insisted again. He paused, then added with probably more sincerity than he intended, "Le Beau and Carter wouldn't just take off like that, sir. They would have come home, just like I promised they would. Something's happened, Colonel, and I want to keep trying to find them."

"I still have men out searching, Corporal Langenscheidt especially. The threat of a train ride east is a great motivator." Klink sighed. It was entirely possible that this fiasco would ultimately put him in a seat right beside the young guard before it was over.

"Let me search with them," Hogan implored.

"That is impossible." Klink shook his head sadly. "If you are not in camp when the General arrives, it will go badly for everyone. And I do mean _everyone_, Hogan. Your men as well as mine. I am sorry, but I cannot allow you to leave at this time."

Hogan straightened. "I don't want to have to investigate this on my own, Colonel Klink," he said finally.

"You are still confined to quarters, Colonel Hogan. Do not force me to change that to the cooler," Klink responded. "And please do not force me to make a show of issuing reprisals against your men if you do try to leave the camp."

Hogan shook his head and leaned in as he spoke. "You'd never even know I'm gone," he said in a low voice. Then, before Klink could answer, Hogan stood up again and cleared his throat. "But I'm with you, Kommandant; everyone needs to be here when Burkhalter shows up. You have my _word of honor_ I'll be at every roll call."

Klink stood, watching the American closely. "See that you are, Colonel."

Hogan nodded once as he kept his eyes locked on Klink's. "I wouldn't have it any other way. May I go now?"

Klink didn't break eye contact. "I will _see you_ at _roll call_. Dismissed."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

General Albert Burkhalter sat down at Klink's desk a little more comfortably than the Kommandant liked. And Klink cringed, mostly to himself, when the large officer leaned back in his chair, resulting in a creak that the Colonel was absolutely certain would one day be the precursor to a terrible crash that would result in Burkhalter spluttering and shouting from the floor and Klink finding himself on the way to the Russian front.

He brought himself out of these distracting thoughts as the General spoke. "So, it looks like there _has_ been a successful escape from your prison camp, Klink," Burkhalter said. "And not only _one_, but _two_."

"Yes, _Herr_ General, but I assure you that—"

The General leaned forward. Another creak from the chair, this time one of relief, Klink couldn't help thinking, as Burkhalter pressed his point. "I do not want your _assurances_, Klink. I want those two men _found_! Or _you_ will find yourself someplace _very chilly_!"

"Yes, _Herr_ General! I have patrols out searching, and I have confined the prisoners to the barracks until further notice. They will be found, sir."

Burkhalter screwed up his face. "Yes, but who will find them first? Your patrols, or the Allies in England?" Burkhalter considered. "Have you spoken with Hogan about this?"

"I have. He, of course, denies everything." Klink shook his head.

"He cannot deny the _facts_, Klink. And neither can you! I'm afraid your perfect record is now tarnished—and there is very little else holding you in this position _except_ your record."

"He does not deny the facts, _Herr_ General." The Colonel shrugged a bit, resigning himself to the idea of using Hogan's own desperate theory to save himself. "But he says they did not go willingly; that there must be some sort of _foul play_ involved."

Burkhalter raised his eyebrows. "Foul play?" Burkhalter leaned back again. The chair creaked loudly. Klink felt his stomach tighten. "I would have expected Hogan to _gloat _about this. Tell me, Klink: why does he refuse to think his men simply ran away when they had the chance?"

"Colonel Hogan had given me his word that there would be no escape attempt while the men were on the work assignment. He says his men made him a similar promise, and he believes they meant it."

Burkhalter drew his face into a stern frown. "He is covering up for them," he accused sharply. "He will know what has happened. We must question him, Klink. An escape at this time would not be fortuitous."

"'At this time,' _Herr_ General?" Klink replied with a puzzled look. "Surely no escape is fortuitous at _any_ time."

"That is especially true for _you_, Klink, since the fact that you have had _no_ escapes is probably the only thing keeping you this far west." Burkhalter stood up and headed for the Kommandant's brandy decanter. "But at the moment, we have troops heading south, and they will be passing by this area soon. It would not be good for anyone to see them. Especially if he was heading back to the Allies, if you see what I am saying."

"Yes, yes, of course, _Herr _General. I was unaware that any of our glorious fighting forces would be moving anywhere through the area." Klink winced slightly as Burkhalter picked up the bottle and poured himself a generous measure, though he made certain the General didn't see the expression. Clearing his throat, asked, "May I ask where they are heading?"

"You may _not_," Burkhalter answered. He took a long drink from his glass and began refilling it. "You do not _need _to know. Those prisoners must be found!"

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Kinch emerged from the tunnel with a grim look on his face. He punched the catch on the bunk to let the mattress fall back into place, then steadied himself with a breath before heading toward Hogan's closed door.

Looking up from the cold cup of coffee he'd been nursing, Newkirk let out a soft sigh when he saw Kinch's expression. "Doesn't look like you had any better luck than I did, mate." He stood and followed the Sergeant to the office door. "Just got back myself. I figured I'd wait on you before I told the Colonel, in case you had anything better."

Kinch just shook his head and kept walking. _Great, so the Colonel gets __**double**__ king-hit,_ he thought, not angry at Newkirk, but not happy with his own report. He pushed open Hogan's door, which had been left slightly ajar, and before the Colonel had a chance to hear the belated soft knocking, Kinch saw the effect the last twenty-four hours had had on his commanding officer. Hogan was sitting on his bottom bunk, his elbows braced on his knees, his hands pressing into his tired eyes. He was exhausted and keyed up and discouraged and angry, and Kinch knew he wouldn't be cutting himself any slack about this mess.

At the sound of his men entering, Hogan quickly raised his head up and dropped his arms. "Anything?" he asked immediately. He searched their eyes for any sign of success, and when he didn't see one, he let his eyes fall away from them. But the question still hung in the air.

"No, sir," Newkirk said quietly. "I've finished talking with most of the blokes that were on that detail—even managed to chat up a couple of the guards; not a one of them heard or saw a thing." He shook his head helplessly. "They all agree that Le Beau and Carter went out to get firewood, and just didn't come back."

Hogan looked at Kinch, expectant, desperate. "Kinch?"

"Sorry, Colonel." The radio man's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Our contacts are looking for the guys, and the message has been passed to the safe houses up the line to the coast. But no one's seen either of them."

Hogan dropped his eyes and slowly shook his head. He said nothing for a minute, during which Kinch and Newkirk shifted uncomfortably but could find nothing to say. Finally, Hogan said softly, "They didn't escape."

Newkirk traded glances with Kinch, then looked back at the Colonel. "We'll find them, gov'nor," he said softly.

Hogan didn't answer. His mind was still replaying all the events that led up to the awful news that Le Beau and Carter had not come back to camp as planned. His heart was still telling him he should have found some way to foresee the situation and prevent it. His body was contradictorily pleading for action and begging for rest. All of it added up to a crushing feeling of despair, one that he couldn't share with the two men before him now. "I'll go back out tonight. Ask some questions… talk to some people… see what I can find…" He knew he wasn't making a lot of sense. _But what else could he do?_

Kinch suggested softly, "Colonel, you're beat. Why don't you lie down and get some sleep? Everything that can be done is being done already." He gestured toward Newkirk. "We'll keep an eye on things, and we'll let you know if we hear anything. Won't we, Newkirk?"

Newkirk nodded in agreement. "Righto, mate. You get a bit of a kip in, gov'nor, and we'll mind the shop for awhile."

But Hogan was shaking his head even as the words were coming out of their mouths. "That's not how it works," he said, not really looking at either of them. "Burkhalter's still here, Klink's still uptight, and we're still coming up empty-handed. The only chance we've got is if I can convince Klink of the _truth_ for once—that Le Beau and Carter wouldn't have taken off on their own, and we need help from the Krauts to find them and bring them back." He paused and took a deep, slow breath. "And if we can't find them, even without the Germans looking…" Hogan's determined mask started to crumble, exposing a face full of worry and just a trace of fear. "…then…" He let his thought trail off, unspoken, and stared into the distance, at nothing.

"Just for awhile, sir," Kinch pressed gently. "If Burkhalter starts leaning on you later, you'll need to have your wits about you."

"Yeah, I guess," Hogan answered. He stood up and looked squarely at Newkirk and Kinch. "You stay in camp," he ordered them. There was no room for negotiation in his tone. "Until I decide this is all over, no one goes out without me… and no one goes out _with_ me." Hogan waited to make sure his seemingly contradictory statement sunk in. "When I go out tonight, _I_ go out tonight. You got that?"

"All right, Colonel," Newkirk agreed reluctantly.

"Right, sir," Kinch said quietly. He looked quickly at Newkirk, then watched as Hogan ran a hand over his face and climbed tiredly up to his top bunk. He had a feeling that no one would be getting any sleep tonight.


	5. Chapter 4, The Domino Effect

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

"Of all times for Klink not to believe me," Hogan complained to Kinch and Newkirk when he came back into the barracks. "I try to get him and Burkhalter to understand that Carter and Le Beau didn't escape, and ask for their help in finding them, and Burkhalter laughs at me. _Laughs_ at me!" Out of habit more than thirst, Hogan picked up his cup and the kettle to pour a cup of coffee, slamming the kettle down when he found it empty. "He's convinced that I know something about their disappearance, and that I'm covering for them so they can make a clean getaway." He shook his head, frustrated, as he let the cup clatter onto the common room table. "This is the wrong time to be losing my _touch_."

"I don't think it's that, Colonel." Newkirk looked up from the deck of cards he was listlessly shuffling and shook his head. Normally, he and Carter would be playing another round of their never-ending game of gin by now. He squared the deck and set it aside. "I think they're only hearing what they want to hear, and let's face it: they'd expect you to do whatever you could to confuse things so your men could escape."

Hogan crossed his arms and stared hard at the floor. "Yeah, only this time that's the _last _thing I want." He took a couple of deep breaths in and out before speaking again. "Klink's in big trouble now, too. His perfect record is shot. That's all I need, on top of this. I had to do a whole song and dance in there defending that infuriating incompetent, when I really wanted to throttle them both!"

Newkirk picked up the cards again, almost without realizing he'd done it. Splitting the deck he shuffled, squared, and shuffled again. "Nobody'd blame you for doing it," Newkirk predicted. "You might even have help."

But Hogan was hardly listening. "I suppose this makes Klink's excuse not to go on a date with _Frau_ Linkmeyer all the more convincing," he muttered, unamused. "The only thing that stopped Burkhalter from sending him east was the fact that the fellas weren't in camp with him at the time they went missing." Hogan paused, scowling as he remembered. "And _I_ was the one who brought it up." His eyes scanned the room, as though some answer to this whole mess might suddenly appear and he didn't want to miss it. He shook his head absently. "Where the hell are they?" he whispered desperately.

Seeing the worry in his men's faces, Hogan pulled himself together and took refuge in the only way he could—by getting to work. "Kinch," he said, looking at the Sergeant, "what did London have to say about the information we _did_ manage to get from Carter and Le Beau?"

Kinch sighed. "Thanks, and when will we have more."

Hogan frowned and rubbed a hand over his face, refusing to give in to the weariness bearing down on him. "Tell London we'll have more information as soon as we go back out. And _no_, I don't know when that is yet. Tell them it'll be as soon as we can do it safely."

"Yes, sir," Kinch replied. He drew in a heavy sigh and tried not to let it out in front of his commanding officer. He didn't want to give up hope, but every minute Le Beau and Carter remained missing was one minute closer to the dreaded possibility that they might not come back to camp at all. And that was something he didn't think any of them were ready to accept.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Hogan stood up from his desk and rubbed his temples, trying to erase the headache that had settled upon him over the last few hours, compounding the exhaustion of the last four days. He stretched stiffly, then headed over to his bunk to lie back for a few minutes. _Just a few minutes,_ he promised himself, _then back to work. With or without Carter and Le Beau, London needs that information._

A pang of hurt pierced his heart. No word from anyone about his two trusted men. No sightings, no contact. Nothing that indicated they were in the area, even in the country. Hogan had always prepared himself mentally for the possibility that some day, any one of his men might not return to camp after being sent out on a mission; it was a calculated risk, and he knew all his men understood that. But no matter how much he tried to separate himself from them, to minimize the emotional cost of a loss, he had not done enough. This hurt. It hurt a lot. No one knew how, or when, or even _if_ anything had happened to his men. And he could not shield himself from blame, since he was in charge. He should have known.

_But known__** what**__?_ The raw hurt flared again. _What did I miss?_

He had put the operation on hold since Le Beau and Carter had disappeared, hoping to get some information that would tell them what had happened, and what could happen to anyone else who went out. But with nothing forthcoming and no other unfortunate incidents occurring, Hogan knew it was time to resume work. And that meant sending his men back outside the wire. His chest tightened just thinking about it, but he knew he would have to do it anyway. _The price of command_. Then another thought ran roughshod over his wounded heart: _Will I still have men __**left**__ to command, when this mission is over?_

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

"Okay, I want you two to play it close to the chest. No heroics, no theatrics; you go out together, you get the information together, you come back together. Got it?"

"Got it, sir," Kinch replied, registering the seriousness of Hogan's dark eyes, and the pain he was trying to hide in them. "We'll watch out for each other. Promise."

"Good. I won't be with you this time to keep you on the straight and narrow. Klink's keeping me on a short leash, and I'm not taking any chances on him coming to do a surprise bed check tonight like he did last night. I've got Barnes and Davis in your bunks just in case. If you two are missing, it won't be nearly as noticeable as if I'm not here. So go—but be quick about it. I won't be sleeping till you're safely back in camp."

"Nothing to it, gov'nor," Newkirk answered with a lightness he didn't feel. "Just a quick look-see, and we'll be back before you've had time to miss us."

Hogan badly wanted to come up with a snappy comeback that would reassure his men that he wasn't really terribly worried about them going out on their own. But the still-open wound of the unexplained loss of Carter and Le Beau more than a week ago refused to let him do so. Instead, he swallowed, nodded, and said, "You'd better get going. Remember: back in two hours. If you don't find anything, let it go. We can always try again another time."

Newkirk nodded and made a final check of the black greasepaint that was smeared on his face. "Right. Let's push off, then." Avoiding Hogan's eyes, he stepped through the bunk frame and descended to the tunnel below, followed by Kinch.

Hogan watched them disappear, then stood staring blankly at the emptiness below him before punching the release on the side of the bunk to move the mattress back in place. _Two hours, fellas. Come back, both of you, in two hours._

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Kinch gave Newkirk a bit of a nudge as the Englishman slowed down. "Come on; our time's nearly up. The Colonel will have a fit if we're not back when we promised." Newkirk picked up his pace. "I've gotta admit, what we got tonight was worth the run, though—there's some good information here. London will be happy."

"Well, they bloody well ought to be, mate. That had to be one of the biggest supply convoys I've ever seen. Too bad we're working 'hands off'; those petrol trucks would've made a right nice bonfire." Newkirk tapped Kinch's shoulder, then stopped and knelt down. "Just got to do up a lace here. Won't be a moment."

Kinch paused and shook his head. "Never mind about your _lace_," he scolded. "You can't blame your left-footedness on your shoes all the time. Just hurry up." Then he turned and took a couple of steps forward to keep watch on their surroundings.

"Left-footedness, is it?" Newkirk grumbled as he tugged on the shoelace, but the grumble changed to a muffled curse as it snapped in his hand. "More like needing a new pair of boots." He shook his head and knotted the broken ends together, tied the shoe again, then rose to his feet and glanced around. "That'll hold it until we get back to..." His voice faded as he realized that Kinch wasn't in sight. He gave the low, two-toned whistle that was his normal recognition signal, and frowned at the silence that was the only reply.

"Kinch?" Newkirk called in a whisper. "Kinch? Stop playing games, mate, and let's go home."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Hogan practically ran to the bunk when he heard the mattress rattling its way up to drop the ladder to the tunnel. "Where the hell have you been? You're almost an hour—" His words were cut off by the look on Newkirk's face, and he felt a cold chill rush from his head to the pit of his stomach. "What happened?" he asked. His eyes darted to the ladder and the tunnel floor, from where Newkirk had just emerged. "Where's Kinch?"

Shaking his head, Newkirk dropped onto one of the benches that stood next to the table in the main room of the barracks. He leaned forward, wiping away some of the greasepaint from his face along with the sweat from his run back to the camp. He'd been dreading this moment, and now that it had arrived, he couldn't meet Hogan's eye. "He's gone, Colonel."

All the color drained from Hogan's face. He suddenly felt lightheaded, like he was about to lose his balance. "He's…" Hogan couldn't say it.

"I looked down for just a couple of seconds to do up my lace, and when I looked up…" Newkirk's voice dropped to a whisper. "I tried to find him, sir. But he just wasn't there any more."

The silence that followed Newkirk's report was deafening. The men who had woken up when the tunnel entrance had opened up stood gaping at each other, trying to fathom the depth of what Newkirk had said, and they turned almost as one to their commanding officer, waiting to see what he would say, and do.

Hogan didn't even register their presence, continuing only to stare in shock at Newkirk. He had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't form a single word. He replayed Newkirk's statements in his mind, trying to process them and come up with a plan. But there was nothing to say.

_Nothing._

Feeling nauseous and dizzy, Hogan finally turned away from Newkirk and staggered back toward the bunk frame, leaning a hand down heavily upon it as though to stop himself from falling. Finally, without looking back at the Englishman, Hogan managed, "Are you okay, Newkirk? Were you followed?"

"No; I made certain of that before I came in." Someone handed Newkirk a damp towel so he could clean the rest of the black from his face. He let it hang limply from his hands. "It's my fault, Colonel," he mumbled. "I let him get out of my sight, even after what you'd said to us about being careful."

Hogan shook his head, closing his eyes. "No, Newkirk. You couldn't keep your eyes on each other every single second. And from the sound of it, that's all it took for him to disappear." Hogan leaned his forehead against the frame of the bunk, then drew away and ran his hand over his face in a quiet gesture of hopelessness. "I shouldn't have sent you and Kinch out. It was too soon." His eyes drifted toward the still-empty bunk that until just over a week ago, had accommodated the most innocent of his group, Carter. Then he repeated in a whisper, "_It was too soon._"

_And now_, Hogan thought, as his eyes burned with tears of hurt and guilt that he was finding hard to hide from his remaining men, _it's too late._


	6. Chapter 5, Scheming's In the Air

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline are LJ Groundwater's. Thanks.

And thanks, nomdeplume13, who DID have a hand in this chapter, though she couldn't remember (you may notice her distinctive Newkirk style!).

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

The whistle for morning roll call brought Hogan abruptly and frantically out of his worried, somber mood. He must have quizzed poor Newkirk a dozen times, trying to find any clue as to what might have happened outside the wire. But that only succeeded in wearing them both down, and in the end, after apologizing three times to the Englishman, Hogan had retreated to his quarters, where he turned over all the information—or lack, thereof—in his mind, until he had drifted into a troubled sleep, only to be woken by confused, anguished nightmares.

Now, the whistle drove another point home—one that Hogan, concerned with other things, had only fleetingly considered: another man missing at roll call, with no way to claim that "something happened" while out on a work detail. He could have someone else cover for Kinch for awhile, but in the end, no one was supposed to be out overnight. Period. Plus, Hogan still wanted as much help as he could get, and that included accepting it from the Germans.

Kinch's disappearance would have to be classed as an escape, and nothing Hogan could say would change that.

He rubbed his eyes and pulled on his crush cap. He had never changed out of his uniform last night, and he tugged his bomber jacket more closely around him and zipped it up, to try and hide some of the slept-in look that his clothes would present to the Kommandant. Then he moved out into the common room, where he saw Newkirk waiting for him by the door, looking like he'd had a similar night's unrest.

On Hogan's orders, Newkirk had gone down into the tunnel and sent off the information he and Kinch had collected, along with the news that Sergeant James Kinchloe needed to be added to the list of missing men. Then he spent the remainder of the night staring at the ceiling from where he'd lain on his bunk, replaying the night's events over and over again.

Three of their closest comrades had vanished without a trace, and while they still had no idea what had happened to Le Beau and Carter, Newkirk couldn't help but feel to blame for Kinch's disappearance. If only he hadn't stopped to tie that damned shoelace, they wouldn't have been separated. _If only..._

Without speaking, Hogan came up to meet the Corporal and placed a hand on his back, guiding him outside into the cold morning air. The smile on the Colonel's face was both resigned and forced, and he was certain that its intended reassurance didn't show on his lips. Finally, Hogan said quietly, "We'll be all right," although he wasn't sure right now that he believed it.

Newkirk took his place in the front row next to Hogan, acutely aware of the empty space behind the Colonel. As the other men settled into line, he yawned and covered his face with his hands to hide the fact that he was speaking. "London wants us to check back in half an hour, sir."

Hogan's nod was barely visible. "Okay." He let out a sigh when he saw Schultz coming toward them, starting his first count of the day. "Here we go." Hogan straightened and said clearly, "Schultz, there's a man missing." The impact of the words hit Hogan hard, as he realized that the only times he normally said them at roll call were when he wanted to create a diversion or buy time… not when there was a real crisis, and he had no idea when—or _if_—one of his men would be coming back to camp.

"Please, Colonel Hogan, it would be worth..." The German's words faded as he, too, saw the empty place where Sergeant Kinchloe usually stood. Schultz hurried down the double row of prisoners, quickly coming back to the front of the line. After an anxious glance at the closed barracks door, he leaned closer to the senior POW and started to ask a question, but the look on Hogan's face gave him the answer without a word. Schultz sighed softly. "I am sorry, but you know I must report this."

Hogan nodded, a truly dejected move that touched the guard deeply. Hogan was definitely not a part of these disappearances, and he was not happy about them, either. "Go ahead, Schultz," was all the American officer said softly. "Klink was gonna have to find out sooner or later anyway."

Klink was heading across the compound when Schultz gave Hogan a brief nod, then turned in time to offer a hasty salute to his commanding officer. "_Herr_ Kommandant, I—I beg to report, there is a prisoner missing!" The Sergeant winced at his own words, waiting for the usual flurry of shouted orders and blustering from his commanding officer.

Klink's jaw dropped and his face paled, but his words were practically whispered. "Sound the alarm. Let loose the dogs…" A combination of anger and fear played across his face, and as he turned his eyes on Hogan, a third emotion joined them: hatred. Hogan stared back, uncomfortable, and as the first siren began to wail, Klink broke his gaze and headed to his office, muttering something to Schultz that the Hogan could not hear.

Schultz ordered the men back to the barracks and told them to stay there. As they dispersed, Schultz came to Hogan's side. "Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant wants to see you in his office." He paused and swallowed hard. "Please be careful; I have never seen him this angry before."

Hogan let out a heavy, weary sigh and nodded. "It's all right, Schultz; I suppose he has a right to be." He turned to Newkirk, who had not left his side. "Just sit tight. I'll…" For some reason, even speaking to one of his own men at the moment seemed like a very heavy burden. "I'll… talk to you again when I'm done with Klink."

"Right, gov'nor," Newkirk said quietly.

Hogan entered the office, and before Klink even looked up, the American said tiredly, "I don't have any answers for you, Kommandant. But I'd appreciate it if you'd set up a search party to try and bring back Sergeant Kinchloe."

"I've done enough of what you would _appreciate_, Hogan. In the past, you have often managed to take advantage of my generous side. But I am telling you now: that arrangement has ended."

Hogan heaved his shoulders. He was in no mood for a song and dance routine with Klink, and found it impossible to keep the sourness out of his voice. "All I'm asking is for a search party. Kinch must have gone out last night. It's cold and the woods could be full of patrols. I'd rather have him safely back in camp."

Klink's reply was sharp. "So would I. And to make certain the rest of your men remain _safely in camp_, all prisoners are confined to barracks until further notice. And there will be random spot-checks around the clock. So I advise you, Colonel Hogan, to order your men to give up any plans they may have for attempting to escape. Anyone caught outside the barracks without special permission will receive thirty days in the cooler, no questions asked."

Humiliated by the way he had been spoken to, but unable to create an excuse because of the timing of Kinch's disappearance, Hogan could only accept Klink's directive. "I don't know about any plans," he said hoarsely.

"Then perhaps you should call a special meeting of your _Escape Committee_ and find out about them before something else happens."

Hogan shook his head. "After Le Beau and Carter were taken, we suspended all meetings, Kommandant. And that's the truth."

Klink raised an eyebrow, and though he almost saw it coming, Hogan couldn't cut off the sly retort from the German. "Then maybe it's _personal_, Hogan. Maybe they're trying to get away from _you_. In which case, you'd be the _last_ one to know, just as you are claiming now."

Hogan's eyes expressed a genuine hurt that, had he not been in such hot water himself, Klink might have regretted being responsible for. "I don't know where they've gone, Kommandant," Hogan said quietly. "I just know wherever they are now… they aren't safe."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Newkirk stared at the basket of the coffee pot as Hogan's words came through the built-in speaker. Though flattened and tinny-sounding, the defeated tone in the American's voice rang through loud and clear. Newkirk was ready to storm across the compound and smash his fist into Klink's monocle. But he could almost hear his absent friends telling him not to cause any more trouble than they were already in.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "All right, mates, I'll lay off for now," he said aloud. He made no effort to move or even unplug the coffee pot when he heard Hogan being dismissed by Klink. The Colonel would know Newkirk had been listening; this would make it clear that Hogan didn't need to repeat what had happened.

A minute later, Hogan appeared. He looked at Newkirk, saw the coffee pot sitting on his desk, and shook his head wordlessly. Then he took off his crush cap and tossed it onto his top bunk, an uncharacteristic, careless gesture, which he followed up by sitting on the lower bunk and rubbing his face before bracing his elbows on his thighs and pressing his mouth into his clasped hands. His troubled eyes gave away a host of emotions that he was not expressing, but the one he hoped was still hidden from his remaining operative was the one that was haunting him the most: _They're gone. And I don't know how to stop it from happening again._

Newkirk sensed that Hogan was withdrawing into an isolated world of worry and blame, and Klink's callous words hadn't helped. Perhaps keeping Hogan plotting would distract the Colonel enough to stop the descent. "Where to from here, sir?" he asked softly.

He was relieved when Hogan seemed to accept the gesture. "We have to save Klink's bacon," the Colonel announced—"before it gets frozen off at the Russian Front. Burkhalter's going to have his head for this. And then…" His short burst of focus seemed to evaporate. His eyes became distant once again. He finished quietly, "And then, I figure out how to adapt what's left of this operation. If I can salvage it at all."

"So what do we do, Colonel?" Newkirk asked determinedly.

Hogan opened his mouth to reply, then stopped himself before any words came out; no matter how negative and fearful he was, it was his job to keep Newkirk—and any of his other men who might still be left—thinking positive. "The Kommandant is lucky we still have need of his services. Otherwise this would be a perfect way to get rid of him." Hogan wished desperately that his voice could convey the lightness he was trying to interject into the conversation. But everything seemed to be rebelling against him, and he was sure he failed. He shrugged as he looked back at the floor boards. "Which would be bad news for Gertrude Linkmeyer."

Hogan straightened as an idea clearly formed in his brain. "Hey, wait a minute. That might be it."

Newkirk furrowed his brow. "Gov'nor?"

Hogan nodded, his mind already plotting at breakneck speed. "That might be it. _Frau_ Linkmeyer."

"I'm not sure I follow, sir."

"Look, Burkhalter's sister is sweet on Klink right? And she's already lost one husband to the Russian Front…"

Newkirk picked up the thread, nodding. "So she might not be so keen on the idea of losing another." He smiled, then screwed up his face. "But she's not married to him, Colonel. And he doesn't seem too interested in changing that any time soon, if I recall correctly."

"He doesn't yet… but he will. Once I highlight the benefits of marital bliss to him."

Newkirk barked out a laugh. "_Marital bliss?_ With Burkhalter's sister? That's rich."

Hogan shook his head and stood up, wrapping his arm around Newkirk's shoulders. "That's the trouble with you Englishmen, Newkirk," he said; "you have no sense of romance." Newkirk turned a wry smile on his commanding officer as Hogan got back to business. "Let me think about this for awhile."

"All right, gov'nor," Newkirk agreed. "But I won't be responsible for any nightmares you have about Klink and Gertrude Linkmeyer getting cozy in the back of Klink's car." He stood up and headed for the door. "It's time to check in with London, sir."

Hogan started pacing, his mind now fully back on track "Okay. Make sure they know there'll be a delay before they get any further information about troop movements. We've got to make sure we're not standing on shaky ground before we go back out again. I know they're in a rush, but if we don't proceed carefully, they won't get anything at all, because there won't be anybody left to work the radio. Meantime, Burkhalter's bound to show up here again soon. I've gotta find a way to stop him from shipping Klink out—and I'm sure _Frau_ Linkmeyer is the key."

Hogan stopped pacing and looked intensely at Newkirk. "It's just you and me now, Newkirk. We're gonna have to do this right. There's no backup any more."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Hogan came up behind Newkirk at the common room table, where the Corporal was thoughtfully drinking a cup of coffee. "I need you to make a phone call."

"And whom might I be calling, sir?" Newkirk looked up from his study of the dark liquid in his cup.

In spite of his continuing dark mood, Hogan smiled. There was something about Newkirk's inventiveness that always made the Colonel feel mildly amazed—and proud. "_Frau_ Linkmeyer. Someone has to tell her how Klink feels about her."

"That's a terrible thing to tell a woman, Colonel. I know _Frau_ Linkmeyer can seem insensitive, but—"

Hogan rolled his eyes. "She needs an anonymous third party to tell her how much Klink really cares about her," he emphasized. "And it needs to spur her into action before her brother Burkhalter ships the man she loves to the Russian Front."

"The man she—?" Newkirk screwed up his face in distaste. Then a smile spread across his face as Hogan's words finally sank in. He raised a hand as if holding a telephone to his ear. "'Allo, _Frau_ Linkmeyer? You don't know me, _meine Dame_, but I am a guard at Stalag 13."

Hogan smiled softly and kept watching the Englishman on his creative roll. "The reason I have been so bold as to make this call is that the guards are all aware of how the Kommandant truly feels about you. It is only his strong dedication to duty that keeps him bound to the cold, lonely life of a soldier…." Hogan chuckled. "_Meine Dame_, we are certain your brother, the great General Burkhalter, will be coming here soon; there have been some unfortunate incidents here involving the prisoners and… _jawohl,_ _meine Dame,_ it could go badly for _Oberst_ Klink. If he is sent to the Russian Front…"

Hogan unconsciously leaned forward in anticipation of Newkirk's next statement, as he imagined what the reaction of Burkhalter's sister would be to such a call. Clearing his throat as if all choked up with emotion, Newkirk continued his impassioned plea. "It is like watching Romeo and Juliet. You remember what happened when Romeo went away, _ja_?"

A small light rose into Hogan's eyes.

"The guards were hoping that you, _meine Dame_ Juliet, could come to Stalag 13 when the General does, and give the Kommandant some comfort in his hour of need—we know how he longs for you, though he may not always show it."

At the words "_meine Dame_ Juliet," Hogan lost his control and practically doubled over laughing. He finally nodded and sat down at the table, still smiling. "If nothing else, she'll come here for the laughs."

Newkirk "hung up" the imaginary phone and smiled. "And if that fails to get her moving in the right direction, I'll toss in some rot about how noble and compassionate her brother the General is."

Hogan shot the Corporal an amused look of disbelief. "_Please!_" he protested. "I don't think I could take it."

Newkirk took a sip of coffee and grinned. "_You? _What about me? My tongue's threatening to slip its rollers and strangle me in protest over saying all that for real."

Hogan nodded. "Hopefully you won't have to. If I'm right—and I'm betting I am—you'll barely get the first few words out of your mouth before the good _Frau_ Linkmeyer comes barreling through the front gate."

"Let's just hope the good _Frau_ Linkmeyer's got enough influence with that ruddy great tub of lard to keep him from packing Klink off on the three-ten to Stalingrad."

Hogan braced his hands on the table and stood up. "I have no doubt about that." He tried to maintain the lightness in his mood, but felt it fading. "Go on and make the call, Laurence Olivier. I'll be working some things out in my office."

"Right, gov'nor. One battle-axe, coming up."


	7. Chapter 6, Wheels are Turning

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Hogan nodded quietly at Helga as he stepped into the antechamber of Klink's office. She offered him a gentle smile, but the lack of light in his eyes kept most of her words in check. "The Kommandant isn't seeing anyone today, Colonel Hogan," she said carefully, her eyes still scanning his face for signs of his intentions.

"He doesn't have to look at me," Hogan replied humorlessly. He kept heading for the door; "I just need his ears."

Helga got up from her desk and hurried to block the entrance to Klink's office. "Colonel Hogan," she said, hoping to stop him from passing right by her, "Colonel Klink is really very busy today; if anyone goes in there, he'll be very angry at me."

But Hogan's eyes were glued on the door. "I'll protect you, honey. Now get out of the way before I have to convince you to move."

"Would that be so terrible?" Helga asked suddenly, making one last attempt at distraction.

Her words had their desired effect. Hogan abruptly stopped moving and looked down into the secretary's eyes. He let his tense shoulders drop as he offered a small smile. "No," he admitted. Helga smiled back at him. "I think it'd be pretty nice, actually."

"Good," the young woman answered. "Then why don't you try it?"

Hogan braced his hands on the doorframe, effectively boxing in the woman smiling expectantly up at him. He smiled again. "All right, Helga. Move."

"No."

"_Please_ move."

"Make me."

Hogan put his hands on her waist to pick her up, but Helga braced her own hands on the inside of the doorframe, making an easy shift impossible. Her cheekily defiant grin melted the last of the lingering moodiness in Hogan, and he leaned in to kiss her. As she turned her face up to meet his, the door behind her opened and Kommandant Klink appeared. Helga's hands dropped to her sides, and Hogan straightened and glared at Klink for the Kommandant's poor sense of timing.

"What is going on out here, _Fraulein_ Helga?" Klink asked, clearly miffed.

Helga replied, "Colonel Hogan to see you, _Herr_ Kommandant."

Klink gave Hogan a stern look. "I'm much too busy to see anyone right now, Hogan. Come back another time." Klink was already turning away as he pushed the door closed.

The anger that had dissipated in Hogan immediately returned, and his hand stopped the door from shutting as he gently but decisively moved Helga out of the way. "There might not _be_ another time," Hogan answered curtly, following Klink into his office and closing the door behind him. "You've got troubles _right now_."

Klink spun about on his heel and found himself face-to-face with Hogan. "Would those be the troubles involving the escaped men, or the usual troubles involving the daily operation of a prisoner of war camp while _you're_ in it?" Klink's blue eyes narrowed. "I am already very much aware of my troubles, Colonel Hogan, so I would appreciate it if you would leave me to attend to them in peace!"

"_Peace!?_" Hogan echoed as Klink glared at him and rounded his desk. "Where do you find _peace_ on the Russian Front?" Klink sat down and ostensibly studied his paperwork. "Look, Kommandant, we've gotta talk. This situation is getting way out of hand, and _we're_ going to end up paying for it."

"_We?_" Klink placed his hands firmly on his desktop. "Yes, Colonel, it is quite possible that I may be sent to the Russian Front for certain recent lapses in discipline in this camp. However, as you will be remaining here, I do not see how _you_ will be 'paying for it'."

Hogan shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. "How do you like _that_?" he remarked. "Three of my men disappear, and you think this is all about _you_." He sighed and shook his head again. "So you go to the winter wonderland in the east, while I stay here and try to keep my men safe with a new Kommandant who isn't nearly as experienced and as wise as _you_. And what happens? There's _more_ discontent among the prisoners, _more_ escapes, _more_ arguments with a Kommandant who doesn't understand how cowed, broken men think—and they get punished. And as the senior POW, _I_ take the brunt of it! It's a bad thing for both of us, Colonel Klink. For _all_ of us."

Klink rested his elbows on the desk, folding his hands over the stack of papers that he'd been looking at earlier. "I have a search party out looking for Sergeant Kinchloe; Sergeant Carter and Corporal Le Beau are presumed to be long gone," Klink added crossly, a statement that Hogan had to force himself to accept in silence. "The Hammelburg police have been alerted, and the commander of the local _Heer _detachment has been notified as well." He shook his head. "There is nothing more that can be done."

"So that's _it_?" Hogan persisted. "You're just gonna sit back and let this happen to us?"

"The only thing I have not done is call in the Gestapo," Klink said. "And _that_ is something I would rather not do until I am forced into it."

"What would it take to force you?" Hogan asked seriously.

Klink looked up at Hogan, startled. "What? You _want _the Gestapo in on this? Hogan, are you _mad_? I thought you _detested_ the Gestapo."

Hogan nodded vehemently. "I do!" he agreed. "But I'm so positive my men haven't been leaving of their own volition, sir, that I'm willing to let those lunatics get involved. Something underhanded is going on, Kommandant, and if anyone knows how to think that way, it's the Gestapo."

Klink stared at his senior POW, speechless at the man's apparent desperation. After a moment, he shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Hogan. Not yet. There is nothing to indicate that Sergeant Kinchloe did anything but leave by his own choice. Get me evidence to the contrary, and I may be able to help you."

Hogan nodded resignedly. That small glimmer of hope, for the moment at least, was gone. "Okay, but there's something else you might need to consider."

"And what would that be?"

Hogan leaned forward and braced his arms squarely on the front of Klink's desk. "Who would be paying for your ticket to the Russian Front?"

"I believe we have already covered that ground," Klink said shortly.

Hogan shook his head sadly and straightened. "I'm disappointed in you, sir. Can't you see the possibilities here? The opportunities?"

"I see the _possibility_ of a new camp Kommandant who knows nothing about this type of work, giving you and your men the _opportunity_ to fly away from here like so many pigeons." Klink stood and pointed toward the door. "Now, if that is all... you are dismissed."

Hogan ignored the rebuff and continued earnestly, "Colonel Klink, you're missing the point! _General Burkhalter _would be the one to send you to Russia—and you're in a perfect position to use that to your advantage!" At Klink's exasperated look, Hogan continued. "For heaven's sake, Kommandant, I'm talking about Burkhalter's _sister_, Gertrude Linkmeyer!"

Klink's reply was immediate and indignant. "Hogan, you're not suggesting that I call her and beg for her to intercede on my behalf, are you?" No sooner were the words out of his mouth than his sense of self-preservation kicked in. "Do you think it would have a chance?"

Hogan screwed up his face in distaste. "I would never suggest something so _crude_ and _obvious_, Kommandant. You don't _beg_ to a woman like Gertrude Linkmeyer; you _woo_ her."

The hopeful expression Klink had on his face melted into a look of shock. He slid back into his chair and laid his hands across his desk. "Hogan…" He stared ahead into space, picturing a future very unlike the one he wanted. He shook his head slowly. "Hogan, I don't _want_ to _woo Frau_ Linkmeyer."

"You can either _woo, woo_… or _choo, choo_," Hogan said softly. "Trains heading east leave twice a day from Bachelor Station."

Klink snapped back into the room. "Hogan, are you trying to say that I should—"

"You've got two choices, Kommandant. Single and shivering… or…"

Klink considered the alternative: "Married and miserable."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Hogan straightened and watched intently as a large black staff car entered through the camp gates a few hours later. The vehicle pulled up in front of the Kommandant's office and a driver got out. Hogan felt his shoulders tense as the back door was opened, and only relaxed when he realized that one part of his plan had worked: Gertrude Linkmeyer was alighting from the car, her heavy coat and her distracting, single-feathered hat a virtual blur of movement as she burst up the steps of the _Kommandantur_ even before her brother made it out of the vehicle behind her.

Hogan nodded with brief satisfaction and walked back into the barracks. Newkirk was coming up out of the tunnel, and Hogan nodded at him, a gesture that the Corporal understood instantly. He stood up and followed the Colonel into his office. Hogan pulled the coffee pot out from under his desk and plugged it in. Newkirk came up alongside him and leaned forward to listen.

"Klink, this camp is starting to have quite a reputation," Burkhalter's voice announced through the tinny speaker. "Any prisoner who wants to escape is begging to come here."

Hogan clenched his fists as Klink's nervous laughter tittered through the room. "Oh, but they won't get very far, General Burkhalter," Klink began in a desperate, singsong voice.

Hogan shook his head.

"Oh, I don't know about that," the General countered. "At least three of them seem to have gotten far enough that no one has been able to find them!"

Hogan exchanged quick glances with Newkirk, then turned his attention back to the coffee pot. "_Herr_ General, I assure you that every step is being taken to—"

"That is what you said to me the last time, Klink. And now _another_ man has gone missing. Another one from _Colonel Hogan's_ barracks. What does he say about _this_ one? That he was _kidnapped_, perhaps? Or whisked away by fairies?"

Newkirk felt his anger beginning to burn as the Colonel braced his hands on the desk and took in a deep breath, almost visibly swallowing the humiliation.

"Hogan has admitted that this is a proper escape, General." Klink's tone changed as he added suddenly, "You know, General—the last two men who went missing. They weren't in camp at the time that they disappeared—so I was thinking that perhaps that incident should not be classed as an actual escape—"

"_Klink!_" bellowed Burkhalter, as Hogan closed his eyes at the Kommandant's flimsy attempts to deflect blame. "Those prisoners were _your_ responsibility; when the work party came back, two of them were missing. _That_ is an _escape_! Unless you are suggesting that they were _set free_."

"No, _no_, _Herr_ General!" Klink gasped.

Hogan planted his elbow on his desk and covered his eyes with his hand, trying to lessen a building tension headache. Sliding his hand down, he cupped his chin in his palm and shook his head resignedly at Klink's ability to put himself in even hotter water than he was already drowning in.

Suddenly the piercing voice of Gertrude Linkmeyer filled the room. "Albert, I think what Colonel Klink is trying to say is that in the first instance, the guards were in charge, away from Stalag 13. He cannot possibly be responsible for the incompetence of his men while they were not anywhere near the camp!"

Hogan's hand slid down off his face. A small smile crept onto his lips.

"Colonel Klink is responsible for the action—or _inaction_—of the men under his command, Gertrude," Burkhalter insisted.

"_Albert…_" The warning in _Frau_ Linkmeyer's voice was unmistakable.

A long pause. "Very well," Burkhalter said curtly. "I shall not consider the first two men's disappearance as being your responsibility, Klink. But this third man's escape is on your head, and I will expect to hear no more excuses for any other unusual activities in this camp!"

"Of course not, _Herr_ General."

An awkward silence.

"_Come on_, Klink," Hogan urged quietly.

Then, as though the Kommandant could hear him through the coffee pot, Klink said, "Uh—General Burkhalter—I was wondering if you and _Frau_ Linkmeyer might like to stay for dinner this evening. After all, it has been so long since I have had the pleasure of the gracious lady's company."

Hogan smiled.

"Dinner?" Burkhalter repeated. "Klink, I have no time for such—"

"_Of course_ we will stay," the General's sister overrode him. "It is a very kind offer, Colonel Klink. We accept."

Hogan nodded and unplugged the coffee pot; there was no need to hear the rest. "It'll just be a matter of time now," he predicted.

"Ol' Klink'll be _begging_ for you, sir!" Newkirk agreed enthusiastically.

Hogan nodded absently. "What did London have to say?" he asked briefly.

"They're worried, sir. They say they're running out of time about those Kraut troops we're keeping an eye on."

Hogan heaved a sigh and looked at from his desk. "I'm sure they are," he said. "We've been a bit slow in coming to the party."

"I tried to remind them we've had our own problems to deal with." Newkirk frowned and shoved his hands into his pockets. "And they said they sympathized, but they still needed the information. I told them we'd get onto it, sir."

"Good. The last thing we need right now is more enemies." Hogan got up from his desk and crossed toward his bunk. "I'll have to go back out tonight."

"You mean _we'll_ have to go back out tonight."

Hogan shot a sharp look at the Corporal. "No, I mean _I'll_ go. _You're_ staying in camp."

"But Colonel, don't you think it's a bit risky to—"

"Forget it," Hogan said, his tone clearly indicating he would tolerate no debate. "It's me, and that's final." About to turn away, Hogan suddenly whirled fully toward Newkirk. "_And_ it's an order."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

A solitary figure cut a silent path through the woods, nerves frayed, determination shining in his dark, sad eyes. He looked around anxiously before lifting the lid to the tree stump entrance outside Stalag 13 to let himself back into camp, then swiftly hopped onto the ladder and disappeared, leaving no trace of his presence behind.

But he had been watched. From the moment he left camp, to the moment he had returned.

_Tsk, tsk, tsk. Going out of camp alone? You must be desperate, Papa Bear. But that's not going to save you. One night, your remaining man will go out, and I will take him, too. And then, when you are completely alone… I will destroy you._


	8. Chapter 7, And Then There Was One

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

"You've got to admit, things are looking better, sir," Newkirk said in what he hoped was a bright tone. He watched as Hogan poured himself a cup of coffee at the stove and let his eyes scan the common room. It didn't escape the Corporal's notice that Hogan's gaze lingered for a long time on what had been Kinch, Carter and Le Beau's bunks, which, for the moment at least, Klink had allowed to remain empty. Hope that they would, somehow, return? But Newkirk wasn't sure which was worse for Hogan's—or for his own—heart: filling those spots with other men, or leaving them vacant, wishing, constantly reminding…

"Yeah, I guess they are," Hogan agreed in a quiet voice. He turned decisively away from the empty bunks and studied the contents of his cup. "For Klink, anyway," he added with forced offhandedness. "I think he can put away his long underwear, at least for now."

"Ooh, I don't know, Colonel; he might still need it to survive the freeze he's gettin' from Burkhalter."

"That'll thaw soon enough," Hogan countered; "Gertrude Linkmeyer's pretty warm. Klink's been doing a decent job of making her feel wanted."

"Thanks to you," Newkirk reminded him. "They're really moving along, judging from the amount of time she's been spending here this week."

"It's all a put-on," Hogan declared. "The only thing Klink wants _moving along_ is _Frau_ Linkmeyer's car—as fast as possible, heading away from him." He sat at the table and took a sip of his coffee. "I should know; I'm the one he's been crying to every night when she leaves."

"Still," Newkirk countered, "it's nice that she comes."

Hogan smiled gently. "Getting soft on her, Newkirk?" he asked.

Newkirk shrugged. "I wouldn't mind having some bird making a bee-line to be by _my _side every night."

"Even if she's Gertrude Linkmeyer?"

Newkirk sat up in mock offense. "Hey, I might be lonely, but I'm not round the twist—not yet, anyway."

Hogan laughed. "True. And it _is_ very nice for her to come. Who knows—maybe they'd actually make a good couple." Hogan shrugged his shoulders. "Unfortunately, she always brings her brother with her, and that makes Klink as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. But… he'll persevere. I'll make sure he does."

"Only you _could_, sir," Newkirk said.

An awkward silence filled the room. "It's been three days, Newkirk," Hogan said finally.

Newkirk didn't have to ask; he knew exactly what Hogan was talking about. "Yes, sir."

"London is still waiting."

Newkirk nodded. "That they are, sir."

Hogan stared hard at the empty bunks where his comrades had been, as though daring himself to hold the look and not break away. His face was unreadable, his eyes equally a mystery, though Newkirk was sure that for the briefest second, he saw them shine with emotion that was just as quickly pushed away. "I've been roped into attending tonight's little lovefest. After that, we're going out."

Newkirk felt his chest tighten. Then he replied, "Yes, sir."

"You can say no if you want to, Newkirk," Hogan said seriously. "There's a lot of ground to cover, and it's gonna take a long time."

Newkirk looked back at the Colonel. "So why would you want to go out alone, sir?"

Hogan opened his mouth to answer. But he thought better of it and visibly changed tack. "I'm just giving you the opportunity to stay in camp," he said flatly. "There's plenty of work to do here."

Newkirk pursed his lips and shook his head. "Baker can man the radio; Olsen can run interference if Klink gets too needy. And Schultz is on duty tonight, so that part will handle itself." He paused. "You can't carry the operation alone, Colonel. It was never meant to be that way."

Hogan swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded. "Okay."

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Huddled behind a large tree, Hogan rubbed his stomach uncomfortably. "I needed that walk," he admitted as he and Newkirk caught their breaths before dashing for the tunnel entrance. "I'm sure Klink kept stuffing our faces with food as an excuse to avoid saying anything too friendly to _Frau_ Linkmeyer." The camp searchlight swung by.

Newkirk grinned. "Glad you got out when you did then, sir. We might have had to roll you back into the tunnel."

Hogan shot the Corporal a pained expression that melted into a lopsided grin of agreement. "Yeah, but not any more. I think I've walked off two weeks' worth of Linkmeyer courtship meals. Mind you, it was worth every step; London should get off our backs for all the information we picked up tonight." The light passed by once more. "It's all clear," he murmured, nodding toward the tree stump. "Let's go."

Hogan burst out from behind the tree and opened the lid to the stump entrance to their tunnel, with Newkirk close behind. Timing his moves to what he knew would be the next sweep of searchlights from the camp, he hopped onto the ladder and heard the hatch being lowered above him, knowing it would be mere seconds before Newkirk came after him. Once on the floor, he stepped away to give Newkirk room to descend, and started to brush a dusting of snow off his jacket.

But within seconds, his senses went on high alert. Newkirk hadn't followed. Had they missed a patrol? Or was Newkirk just being extra careful? Hogan's chest constricted. He turned and climbed up the ladder, stopping with his hand on the latch, listening. All was quiet. Very cautiously, he raised the lid a crack and peered outside. A light swung past; Hogan dropped the lid instantly. Then he opened it a bit wider and looked around. Nothing. Finally he opened it all the way and hopped out, dropping behind the stump on the next curve of the lights.

When it was safe again, he stood up and quickly moved out of the searchlight's path and toward the woods from where he and Newkirk had just emerged. Hogan looked around, concern rapidly turning into panic. Newkirk was nowhere in sight. His breaths now sharp and shallow, Hogan swung around again, re-examining every possible place that Newkirk could be. He had been here only seconds ago. There were no patrols nearby; looking down on the camp, everything was peaceful and undisturbed as a light snow fell, the flakes sparkling in the glare of the searchlights. _Where did he go?_

Taking a few worried steps toward the trees, Hogan called out softly, "Newkirk? Newkirk!"

The night offered no reply. Hogan went a little further into the woods, one eye constantly flitting back toward the tree stump. Newkirk wouldn't have gone far. Hell, thought Hogan, knowing how precarious things were at the moment, he wouldn't have gone _anywhere_! Hogan hurried back to the stump, studying the ground around it, and the path from where he and Newkirk had come out of the woods. He shook his head. The snow was so light that it was melting as it hit the ground, leaving no hope of a white trail. Earlier this evening, Hogan had been pleased about that. Now, he cursed it.

"Newkirk…" he said aloud one more time, the word now both a plea for the Corporal to suddenly appear and tell Hogan it had all been a joke, and a moan of lamentation as the Colonel realized that in all likelihood, the last of his core group wouldn't be coming home.

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

Hogan didn't remember returning to the barracks that night or explaining what had happened to the waiting men. Everything after cold, awful reality had knocked him down, he did on automatic pilot, and by the time he came into himself, he was in his quarters and changed into his pajamas with his bathrobe tied tightly around him. Sergeant Patrick Olsen was standing in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee and asking for what must have been the third or fourth time, judging from his worried expression, if the Colonel was all right, if he wanted a drink, if he wanted to come out and join the others. Hogan swallowed hard and looked, disoriented, around his office. "Uh—no," he managed. Olsen's expression only grew more concerned. "I just need…" His mind drifted; he couldn't concentrate. "…to think." Olsen didn't move. "I'll—I'll be out in awhile," he said finally.

Olsen nodded, not convinced that Hogan was all right on his own. He looked at the Colonel worriedly. "Sir, if you need anything—"

Hogan nodded quickly, cutting him off. "Thank you, Sergeant. I'll be fine."

"Yes, sir," Olsen replied reluctantly.

"Make sure Baker has the radio warmed up," Hogan ordered suddenly, firmly. "I have to transmit the information Newkirk and I got to London."

Olsen nodded. "Right, sir," he said.

Hogan watched Olsen leave. A good man, Hogan thought. Once known as their "outside man," Hogan thought ruefully how that was a job he would offer to no one now. Any man who went outside seemed doomed to become "that missing man." _Any man,_ Hogan added guiltily, _except for me._ How many times since Carter and Le Beau first went missing had Hogan gone out on his own and come back safe and sound? Even tonight, whatever had happened to Newkirk, Hogan had been left unscathed. _How?_ Hogan's mind screamed.

_Why?_


	9. Chapter 8, Decisions

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Morning came too soon to Stalag 13. As the whistles for roll call shrilled through the camp, Hogan rubbed his throbbing temples. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep all night, and had spent the hours after talking with London pacing his quarters and feeling his headache build to a pulsing crescendo. He had dressed before going down to the radio, and now he just glanced at his uniform before grabbing his hat and heading outside.

Schultz was there, mumbling his early-morning-tempered orders to the prisoners to line up quickly and quietly. He walked down the row, pointing and counting, and he frowned when he got to Hogan sooner than he expected. Hogan, for his part, wasn't volunteering anything. He just stood staring straight ahead, his mind still at the tree stump, his heart still in pieces.

"Repoooooort!" came the call from Klink as he came bustling across the compound. Before Schultz had a chance to question the American Colonel, Klink was upon them. "Schultz!" the Kommandant greeted expectantly.

Schultz was about to—once again—report the unacceptable, when Klink's expression changed and he moved in closer to Hogan. "You look positively _gray_ this morning, Colonel Hogan," he said with more than a touch of superiority. "Are you ill?"

Hogan didn't bother to put on an act. "I've got a headache," he muttered, the words ricocheting in his skull. He swallowed to counteract his nausea.

"Perhaps that will teach you not to drink so much of _my good wine_," Klink lectured, still not happy with how cheerfully Hogan seemed to be taking advantage of the Kommandant's need to stay on Gertrude Linkmeyer's good side.

"I had one glass, and it wasn't that good," Hogan murmured, more out of habit than a need to defend himself.

Klink turned to Schultz, who was swaying beside him. "Schultz, make your report!" he demanded, making Hogan wince visibly.

"_Herr_ Kommandant, I beg to report…" Schultz shot a fast look in Hogan's direction. The American did not look back. "I beg to report…" His voice got even lower as he dropped his eyes. "There is a prisoner missing."

The righteous look in Klink's eyes disappeared at once. "There is a _what_?" he asked through his teeth, looking from Schultz to Hogan.

"The Englander, Newkirk. He is not here, Kommandant," Schultz said.

Klink's eyes pierced into Hogan, who did not react. "Hogan, what do you have to say about this?" the Kommandant demanded angrily.

"Nothing, Colonel," Hogan said softly.

"Nothing?" Klink practically shouted, making Hogan's head pound even harder. "Colonel Hogan, your barracks is turning into a hotel, and you have _nothing to say_?" Hogan squeezed his eyes shut and put a soothing hand to his temple. "Schultz, send out the dogs—and get a search party working outside the fence immediately."

"_Jawohl, Herr_ Kommandant!"

"Colonel Hogan, I will see you in my office," Klink said through his teeth. Then he turned his back on the prisoners and walked away.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"I don't want to hear any of your excuses, Hogan," Klink began, even before Hogan was fully in the office. "Another man has gotten out of this camp, and I want an explanation."

"Kommandant, I don't have an—"

"Then you had better _get_ one!" Klink cut him off, as Hogan, clearly suffering, rubbed his forehead. "Hogan, I don't think you understand how serious this is. Your plan for me to stay in General Burkhalter's good graces by spending time with _Frau_ Linkmeyer has worked well so far. But _this_ is going to go beyond even _that_. And not just for _me_, Hogan—but for _you_, as well!"

Hogan dropped his hand. "For me?" he asked.

"Absolutely. Don't think it has escaped the General's notice, Hogan, that every man who has gone missing is from _your_ barracks. He will suspect that _you_ had some hand in this, Colonel. And quite frankly, I already _do_."

Hogan let out a breath. "Look, Colonel, I promise you, I had nothing to do with this."

But Klink was already shaking his head. "Your promises mean nothing now, Colonel Hogan. For both of our sakes, I hope your Corporal Newkirk comes back to camp before General Burkhalter arrives. Otherwise I doubt anything you say to him _or_ to _Frau_ Linkmeyer will prevent either of our heads from rolling."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

When Hogan returned to the barracks that night, the men were in their bunks, tossing and turning in that period between wakefulness and slumber. Without putting the light on in the common room, he made his way to his quarters, turning on his own light and closing the door before wearily sitting down on his lower bunk and letting everything possible drain out of his body.

It had been a difficult evening at best. Burkhalter had arrived with Gertrude, as expected. Also as expected, he had reacted badly to the news that another prisoner had escaped. All of Klink's attention to _Frau_ Linkmeyer and his fawning at her brother could not distract the General this time; a prisoner was gone. Another nail in the coffin of Klink's perfect record. Another failure for Burkhalter to report to the _Führer_. Another step closer to the Russian Front for Burkhalter himself.

And the General's interrogation of Hogan had been relentless. He questioned the American again and again, sweetly, softly, loudly, accusingly, violently. At one point, Hogan lost his temper and snapped, "General, you must be hanging out with Major Hochstetter; you're picking up an awful lot of really attractive Gestapo tricks. Next time, why don't you ask him about the too-tight handcuffs technique? He's quite fond of it."

The conversation had degenerated from there, until Klink himself became the peacemaker and ordered Hogan back to his barracks before the encounter came to blows. The senior POW had stormed out, taking long, angry strides across the compound, cooling down only when he stepped back inside Barracks Two and got a visual reminder of his responsibility in camp.

These remaining men—_all_ the prisoners in Stalag 13—were depending on him to look after them, to protect them from the enemy among whom they lived, and upon whom they counted for their daily bread. Bitterly, Hogan admitted that he'd failed, and now, as extreme tiredness descended upon him, he wondered how he'd ever carry on.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"London's on the line, Colonel. They'd like to talk to you."

Hogan came out of his thoughts and looked toward the voice, for the briefest second fully expecting to see Kinch standing beside him in the yard. But just as quickly, he registered Sergeant Richard Baker in front of him, his face concerned.

"Sir? London's on the radio."

Hogan looked at Baker for a moment without answering, then he uncrossed his arms and pulled away from the barracks wall. "Right," he said through a sigh. "Let's go."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan switched off the radio and replaced the headsets on the desk, then simply sat with his hands in his lap, thinking. Baker, though he would normally have taken over the radio for Hogan, had caught a glimmer of something in the Colonel's eyes that prompted him to leave his commanding officer alone and head back up to the barracks, a decision that Hogan did not protest.

Now, Hogan found himself forced to face a situation he had always prayed to avoid. Apparently some of the brass had finally had a talk about Hogan's current situation and decided to find out where he thought the operation was going from here. His four closest operatives were gone; those with whom Hogan had begun this intelligence unit just over a year ago had disappeared without a trace. And so London wanted a direct response: could Hogan carry on without them?

_That's a question I never wanted to have to answer,_ Hogan thought ruefully. There were other men, of course. People like Baker, Scotty, Thomas, Foster and Olsen, and others in the camp who had some talents that Hogan had used upon occasion. These men had, when needed, stepped in and taken a part. Could they continue to do so? Hogan had no doubt. He knew that was the question London was asking. But the one he was asking _himself_ was totally different: _did he have the heart_ to go on without Le Beau, Carter, Kinch and Newkirk? Had the loss of his most trusted comrades finished him?

Hogan had told London that he was already pondering the future of the operation and would contact them again that night. He knew they would never suspect the truth if he simply decided to close up shop and get out. They would never know that there were men, in all probability, capable of continuing the operation with him. They would never know that he had simply not had the spirit to go on with his work without his closest, most experienced men by his side. They would never know that a piece of Hogan had died with each disappearance, and that an empty shell would be returning to London, feeling like the biggest failure that ever was.

He let out a heavy breath and covered his eyes with his hands. He'd lost men before; that was the nature of war. As far back as test piloting he'd encountered the death of comrades, and he'd always picked himself back up and carried on. He'd lost his own plane—his precious _Goldilocks_—and with it, some men to whom he'd become as close as brothers. He'd felt the absolute agony of grief, and still, he'd found a way to keep going—_Hell, that was how this operation came about in the first place,_ Hogan thought meaningfully, his mind unwillingly going back to that horrible summer day in the skies over Hamburg, and the men whom he was fated never to see again. _It was how I kept my promise that you wouldn't have died in vain._

So what would happen if Hogan went back to London now? Would that mean the disappearance of his men from Stalag 13 had been in vain? Would leaving mean being a traitor to their memories? To the cause that they so firmly believed in?

He took in and let out another long breath through his nose. Everything was in such a mess now. Klink was precariously close to losing his nice warm post so far west. Burkhalter was convinced that Hogan was part of all these disappearances, regardless of how much he argued otherwise. And Hogan himself? He dropped his hands. He knew in his heart what he had to do.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"All right, everyone's clear on what we're doing tonight?" Hogan let his eyes come to rest on each of the men in front of him.

"Yes, sir," they murmured, acutely aware of the awkwardness that their commanding officer was trying very hard to disguise.

Hogan ignored the solitary bead of sweat running down the back of his neck. "We go out together, and not a single one of you _ever_ leaves the others alone, not for a _second_. Understand?"

Olsen, Scotty and Foster looked at each other and nodded fervently at Hogan. They very much wanted to reassure him, and, truth be told, each other. They weren't interested in becoming the next men to go missing from Stalag 13, since no one knew what had become of the ones who went before them, though they were certain it wasn't good.

Hogan pulled his fragile self together and nodded decisively at the trio. "Good," he said curtly. "This should be the last of the information London needs to get their little party going. We know there are troops moving through the area, about four miles outside camp. We'll go there, do a count, see what we can work out, and come back. _Together._"

"Absolutely, sir," Olsen said firmly. He paused. "When do we leave?"

Hogan swallowed. _This is your job. Just do it._ "Thirty minutes after lights out."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan grew anxious as the foursome came closer to camp. He had kept the three men in plain sight for the entire outing, and now, as they were coming to the end of their work, he was even more worried. Hadn't it been at the very end of the mission, when he had actually dropped his guard in relief, that Newkirk had vanished?

His shoulders ached with tension as he continued to shepherd his men back toward Stalag 13. He nodded Olsen and Scotty ahead through a narrow clearing, keeping Corporal Foster protectively by his side as his eyes scanned the area around them non-stop. He resisted the almost ridiculous urge to actually grab hold of Foster's arm and instead concentrated on Olsen's back as he and Foster followed the pair in front of them.

Unexpectedly, Scotty and Olsen froze and ducked low; Hogan and Foster immediately followed suit. Hogan held his breath and listened, waiting for any sound that might indicate someone was nearby. Nothing. He looked around, listened again, waited. All quiet.

He met Olsen's eye, and with a nod signaled that it was okay to proceed. They all stood up, moving with even greater stealth now, and when they had to walk single file through a dense part of the woods, Hogan had to remind himself to breathe. He shook his head as he once again counted the bobbing figures in front of him: _one, two, three_. They were all there. They were all fine. _You've done all right this time,_ he told himself firmly. _We're nearly there. Hold it together._

This time when they got to the tree stump, Hogan ordered the others down first, physically feeling his tension slip away as one man, then the next, dropped below the surface. He held the third, Olsen, back when the camp searchlights swept past, then patted his arm to indicate he could move in. Hogan watched intently as the Sergeant lifted the hatch, then climbed into the stump and disappeared down the ladder.

Finally able to breathe a sigh of relief, Hogan began to stand up so he could zip toward the tree stump in sync with the arcing searchlights. But he suddenly felt a heavy hand pressing down on his shoulder, followed by a harsh, painful sting near the base of his neck, and before he knew what was happening, the world was spinning around him, and everything went black.


	10. Chapter 9, Meeting the Enemy

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan opened his eyes with a groan, then closed them at once against a bright, punishing light. He turned his head slowly, vaguely, not quite yet ready to wonder what had happened, or where he was, or how long he had been there. His arms seemed to float slowly from his stomach down toward what through a haze he realized was probably the floor. Then he paused again to rest, still feeling overwhelmingly tired and disconnected from the world around him.

Slowly he let his other senses kick in. He was on his back, feeling neither hot nor cold, just generally uncomfortable, but he was unwilling, or unable, to change position. He could smell nothing—no food; no tobacco smoke; no cologne, perfume, or other scents that might tell him that someone was nearby. And if he could have gathered the energy to really strain his hearing, he would have gotten no clues from that sense, either; it was completely silent around him: no voices, no machinery, no footsteps.

A stinging sensation near the base of his neck made him frown uncomfortably, and Hogan tried to force himself to care that it was the same feeling that had preceded whatever predicament he was in now. With another groan he triumphed over his heavy eyelids, but when he could finally focus his eyes, there was little to see. Blank walls, a door, a too-brilliant light.

_Where am I? Is this what happened to the others?_

The questions floated into Hogan's brain. But with no strength to follow through on the answers, he closed his eyes, and once again drifted away.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"No, this can't be. This is what happened to Newkirk!"

"It's true, Baker—it's _true_! We got back to the stump, the three of us got down, and suddenly… no Colonel Hogan!"

"It can't have happened that way; he couldn't just disappear in the blink of an eye!"

"He _couldn't_—but he _did_. Why would we make up a story like that?"

"I don't know! You wouldn't!" The Sergeant who had reluctantly taken over radio duties when Kinch went missing suddenly lost all his strength. "You wouldn't," he repeated quietly.

Scotty, Foster and Olsen nodded, shifting uncomfortably. "No," Olsen agreed softly. "We wouldn't."

Richard Baker shook his head slowly, wishing to God that he would suddenly wake up and discover that the last ten minutes had been a dream—a nightmare. But he knew he wouldn't. _Damn it!_ "Now that Colonel Hogan's gone, too… we have to presume we've been compromised. Look, I hate to suggest this, but I think as of now, the operation has to shut down."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Hogan."

Hogan frowned at the intrusion of the unfamiliar voice and, disregarding it, he tried to fall back to sleep, or unconsciousness, or whatever state of unawareness he had been lulled into.

But the speaker was persistent, and stern. "Hogan. You've had enough sleep. It is time to wake up. _Wake up._"

Hogan groaned crossly through his teeth, then tried to obey. It wasn't as easy as it sounded. He pried open his eyes, feeling like an amateur at what was normally a brainless task. He felt a dull headache clamping his skull, but at least the light didn't hurt him any more, and he stared dully at nothing as his senses returned.

_Wake up,_ the voice had commanded. Hogan wished he could; his head was still so fuzzy and he seemed to be having difficulty breathing normally. He was certain now that someone had jabbed a needle into the back of his neck; had it been filled with something that was making him sick? Without thinking, Hogan tried to reach up a hand to feel the point of injection, and he was disturbed—and alarmed—when he realized that he could not. In his fuzzy-headedness, he had not even noticed until now that he was no longer lying on the floor. He was seated in a chair.

_Tied up._

Anxiety speedily clearing his mind, Hogan blinked deliberately and took several labored breaths, then looked at himself. His bomber jacket had been removed, and his forearms were secured to the arms of a hard wooden chair with both rope and military green duck tape, the latter of which he frowned at, and when he tested his legs, he discovered they were bound as well. Still not fully lucid, he tried to pull away from the back of the chair, only to find he had been strapped in place at the chest as well. _Because I would have fallen over otherwise when I was unconscious,_ he concluded. _Or, more likely, for some other reason I won't like very much…_

Hogan felt perspiration burst onto his forehead and upper lip as panic began to take hold of him. He gave one last, desperate jerk to his bindings and tried to turn his head to see who was behind him when he was frozen in place by the unmistakable sound of the hammer being tripped on some sort of firearm.

"I wouldn't," is all the voice said, calmly.

Slowly, Hogan brought his head back around to face the front, his whole body rigid with apprehension. His chest tight, Hogan's eyes bored into the wall, searching for a shadow, a silhouette of a profile, anything. "What do you want with me?" he asked, struggling for breath. He wanted to sound annoyed, but suspected his troubled breathing made his words come across instead as frightened.

"A little conversation, perhaps."

Hogan tried to concentrate. _Listen to him. Get every clue you can. His English is good, but he's definitely German. He sounds confident… but he doesn't want to be seen. He's got all the advantage here. What is he afraid of?_

"I'm not really in the mood to chat," Hogan retorted.

A small snort of amusement.

_I've heard that laugh before. Gotta figure this out…_ _Keep him talking…. _"If you really want to talk, you might tell me what you stuck in my neck," Hogan panted. His lungs ached. "I presume that's what dropped the bricks on my chest."

"You are concerned, Hogan. That is interesting to see."

"I'm glad I've made your day."

The voice was suddenly much, much closer. Someone was practically breathing in Hogan's ear. He unconsciously held his breath.

"You haven't yet," the voice cooed softly. "But you will."

Another sharp sting in his neck. Hogan gasped and stiffened, resisting the touch, the violation, the blackness that he knew was coming. His fists clenched as he gritted his teeth, and then, unable to stop what was happening, he watched as the wall in front of him blurred and faded away.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

His eyelids still cemented shut, Hogan frowned, feeling the heaviness that had started to lift from his chest once again in force. Breathing was such an effort. He had to focus on drawing in shallow breaths that he had no strength to deepen, and each time he inhaled he felt a painful stiffness radiating to his back and shoulders that made him wince.

He lifted his head from his chest and let it fall limply toward his back. Something was different this time… what was it? _Open your eyes. Come on… you can do that._ And so he tried. And when his eyes encountered blackness he felt a thrill of fear race through him. He immediately tried to reach up to his head, and was startled—and confused—when he realized his hands were now tied behind the back of the hard, wide chair.

Commanding himself to remain calm, he took in and let out a shaky breath, then led himself through his current predicament one step at a time. _Start with your eyes,_ he decided, and he mentally felt around his head. _Blindfolded… I'm __**blindfolded**__._ He could feel relief wash through him. Whatever else had been done to him, his eyes were undamaged. _Now… sort out your arms._ He wriggled his fingers, frowning beneath the blindfold. His wrists were tied together, too tightly, he realized with a hiss as he tried to pull them apart. Rope. And more duck tape. His shoulders ached from the strain, but he could do nothing to relieve it, as when he tried to change position in the chair he discovered he was still tied at the chest as well. _This is getting old, real fast._

One or two short tugs and Hogan gave up, frustrated and breathless. He let his head drop down once more as a dozen questions chased each other in his mind. _Who's holding me? What does this guy want from me? Was this what happened to my men? Where have I heard his voice before? Where am I?_ And most urgently, _How am I going to escape?_

Sound in the distance made him pause in his thoughts. Now unable to see even the blank walls, Hogan was uncertain if he was in the same room as he was before. Was the door still behind him? He strained to hear. Footsteps, coming closer. Unwillingly, Hogan stiffened in fear, and he bit his bottom lip to slow his breathing and his pounding heart. Someone was coming. _Please don't come here, please don't come here, please don't come here, __**please don't come here**__._

But a door opened—behind him, he noticed, blowing out a slow, shaking breath and deliberately releasing his shoulders, which had crept up instinctively to protect his neck from another potential injection. He kept his eyes closed beneath his blindfold. _You can do this…._

"So nice to see you awake again, Hogan," came the voice.

"I like it, too," Hogan managed, surprised at how unsteady and hoarse his own voice was.

"I'm sorry if you find your present accommodation uncomfortable; I didn't have many choices, thanks to you."

Hogan couldn't tell if the voice was angry, amused, or both. _Keep him talking._ "Thanks to me?" He tried to take a deep breath. He couldn't.

"There are only so many places I can take you. I don't want anyone to know that you are with me."

The voice moved closer. Hogan concentrated on his breathing. His chest hurt like it had when he was a child suffering with both asthma and bronchitis, struggling vainly for air to reach his lungs. Vivid memories of turning hot, fearful eyes toward his mother, asking _Why can't I breathe?_, being terrified of falling asleep in case his brain didn't remember to keep him breathing, disoriented him for the briefest moment. He felt perspiration rolling down his temples and his forehead, being absorbed by his blindfold. He was hot, he was suddenly burning up. _Breathe slowly. You're not eight years old any more. It's okay. _

Hogan closed his eyes tiredly. Exhaustion had closed in on him again, but this time he didn't know if it was whatever he'd been injected with, or the monumental work of breathing that was sapping his strength. Still, he tried to cling to the present, and so he replied, panting heavily, "Trying to… get all the credit… for… recapturing an escaped… prisoner?" _Breathe… Breathe…_ "Won't get a medal… if you keep me… all… to yourself."

Hogan's captor laughed out loud. Hogan shivered and felt his shoulders rising up again, then let out a startled gasp when he felt hands push them back down and press them heavily. "But I _want_ you all to myself, Hogan," the voice countered, close—_too_ close—to the Colonel. "Medals are incidental to my objective."

Hogan felt like he was suffocating. "Wh… which is?"

A tight squeeze of his shoulders was the only answer. Hogan clamped his teeth together to stop from groaning in pain as his already-sore muscles protested the extra burden. "_Which… is?_" he hissed insistently.

The grip on his shoulders got even tighter; this time Hogan let out a strangled cry, which he bit back almost instantly. Suddenly he felt a violent shove from behind, a sharp, angry action that pressed him roughly into the ropes across his chest. Then he fell back in the chair, panting heavily, relieved that the pressure was off his shoulders, anxious about what was coming next.

He waited, heard footsteps receding, then nothing. As the adrenalin surge began to recede and he was about to give in to his fatigue, he suddenly became keenly alert. He opened his eyes, though he knew he would see blackness, and held his heavy breath, listening intently. Had he just heard another voice?

"You are a… They will come… nothing you can…"

_That's Le Beau!_ Hogan could hear only the inflection of the voice, barely able to make out words clearly. But he was almost positive it was the Frenchman he heard in the distance. A long-dimmed light of hope sprang within him. He nearly laughed out loud, giddy with joy, until he realized that the voice he was hearing was angry, and not moving any closer to him. Hogan had to call out. He had to speak!

"Le Beau… _Le Beau!_" Hogan's hopes shattered as he discovered that his loudest voice was only a broken whisper. His dry throat and his constant breathlessness had depleted his strength and volume, leaving him frustrated and distressed.

And isolated. The voices faded away, and Hogan was left alone in the darkness.

* * *

Note the following research, please!:

Duct tape was originally manufactured for the U.S. military during World War II by the Johnson & Johnson Permacel division, to prevent water from seeping into ammunition boxes. Because "water rolled off it like a duck" (it was waterproof) and because it was made using "cotton duck" (similar to the material in cloth medical tapes), the new invention was originally called "duck tape." In the booming postwar era, its versatility made it a standard component of any handyman's toolkit; however, its most high-profile use was connecting heating and air conditioning ducts. Thus, "duck tape" became "duct tape." Ironically, the tape is now considered ineffective for ductwork and banned by most building codes.


	11. Chapter 10, Hints and Allegations

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters is LJ Groundwater's. Thanks.

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"_Schuuuuultz!_ Release the dogs! _Guaaaards!_ I want _every inch_ of those woods searched! Bring Colonel Hogan back here; I don't care what it takes!" Klink was waving his arms, his riding crop making loud arcs in the air as it flailed about in the dim morning light. Hogan was gone. _Hogan!_ No matter how many other prisoners might have escaped from Stalag 13, the American Colonel was Klink's trophy, the one the higher-ups had entrusted to him to keep stashed away for their own purposes. And up until this morning, that had been the arrangement. But now, when Schultz had reported one missing at roll call, and Hogan's place in line was chillingly vacant, Klink's own situation had taken an immediate turn for the disastrous.

How _dare_ Hogan escape—after all those _promises_: that his own men had not intended to leave, that Hogan himself would never attempt to break out of camp, that he understood Klink was not to be toyed with. _How dare he?_

"_Don't_ stop looking until you find him!" Klink ordered as he raised his clenched fists one last time in frustration. He turned abruptly away from the line-up of prisoners and stormed back toward his office. Angrily, he added, "Then bring him back _in chains_."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan relished simply breathing during the first of his next waking moments. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but the time was apparently good for his chest, and he cherished the sensation of being able to fill his lungs with air.

Eventually, he allowed himself to focus on other things, and he once again took stock of his circumstances. Had anything changed _this time_? He was still blindfolded, and no matter how hard he tried to see through the cloth tied tightly around his head, he could not. He ignored a dull, thumping headache and a lingering tiredness that seemed bent on trying to get him to go back to sleep. His hands were still tied behind the back of the chair, and he registered a stiff ache between his shoulders that he was sure wasn't going to get better any time soon. At least the sting in his neck was absent. _Until he jabs me again… with whatever it is he's using._

With his situation unfathomable to him at the moment, Hogan listened once again to the questions tumbling around his brain. Who was his captor? Where had he come from? What did he want? _Was_ that Le Beau he had heard earlier? And, the question he was asking himself every second: _How do I escape?_

No answers came, and eventually Hogan became aware of how thirsty he was. Hunger was gnawing at him, but only slightly; he needed energy to eat, and he still didn't have much of that. But his throat was dry and his lips were parched, and in his mind's eye he could just _see_ a pitcher of cool water waiting to be poured into a tall, frosty glass. _Forget it,_ he ordered himself, trying to banish the image. _Think about something else._

His mind drifted back to Stalag 13. What would be happening there now? Hogan's disappearance was going to spell bad news for Klink. Would Burkhalter finally ship the German Colonel off to the Russian Front? And what of the men who had been left behind? For the first time, he thought about Scotty, Olsen and Foster. He knew they had gotten into the tunnel safely, because he had made sure that they went ahead of him that night. How long did it take them to realize that Hogan was gone? Had they gone back out to search for him? A sudden fear seized him—_had they also been taken?_

Which led Hogan to another train of thought. What did he actually know about the man holding him prisoner? He tried to concentrate on the brief encounters he had had with the German. Well, that was the first fact: the man was German. No surprise, really, Hogan thought. Second, the man must be military, or have access to a military installation; duck tape wasn't available to the public at large. Hogan didn't know if the Germans had it, though. _Could the man be a traitor? _Third, and most disturbing to Hogan, his captor wanted to keep the American's whereabouts a secret. Why would that be? _Is he acting against orders? Would someone not approve of his activities? _Or—oh, Lord: _Is he masquerading as a member of the Underground, when he's really out to destroy it?_

Hogan didn't have time to continue that line of thinking, as he heard the door open behind him and someone came into the room. "Can you hear me, Hogan?"

_Let's push a little bit. _"That's _Colonel_ Hogan," Hogan said sharply. He held his breath. His voice hadn't sounded as harsh as he'd have liked, but he must certainly have gotten his point across.

A short laugh—_where had he heard it before?—_told Hogan that he had, even though it was about to be disregarded. "Oh, of course. _Colonel_ Hogan. Would you like to know what to call _me_?"

Hogan didn't bother holding back. "I can think of a few things."

A longer, heartier chortle. _That's it, keep laughing. You're gonna give yourself away any time now…._

"Actually, _Hogan_, I've been thinking: it isn't terribly fair for me to know so much about you, while you know so little about me. So let's talk. What would you like to know?"

The words tumbled out before Hogan could stop them. "Who you are. What you want with me. Whether you have my men."

The voice that answered sounded impressed. "So many questions, Hogan!" Footsteps moved closer to the Colonel. "I feel _honored_ that you have spent so much time thinking about this."

Hogan coughed. His throat hurt. "Not much else to do around here," he said. There was a long pause that his captor didn't fill. "So are you going to answer them?"

"I am disappointed that you don't already know who I am," the voice admitted.

Hogan didn't reply. He wasn't up to mind games right now.

"I might leave that question unanswered for now. You will discover my identity in due time. Why am I holding you? Because I hate you. And because I have career plans that require you not being able to do the things you do so well."

_Because I hate you. _Hogan's heart froze and then plunged into his stomach. "What kinds of things are those?" No answer. "_What kinds of things are those?_"

More silence. And then from behind, hands holding the sides of his head, making Hogan gasp. But the hands merely smoothed his cheeks below the blindfold, then ran across the back of his neck. Hogan closed his eyes as fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, and became rigid as those hands again came to rest on his shoulders, though all of the touches were gentle.

Still, no words were forthcoming. Hogan felt himself starting to sweat, fear and uncertainty showing themselves as tiny droplets on his forehead, his neck, his body. His chest was starting to feel tight again, only this time it had nothing to do with any injection. This man wasn't brutal—yet. But his touch made Hogan's skin crawl. _What did he want?_

"Where are my men?" Hogan asked in a burst of breathlessness.

The hands lifted. Hogan breathed out. "So many questions." Hogan grimaced as he felt the painful binding around his wrists suddenly being tightened even more. "You do not need answers yet."

"Well, _you_ were the one offering," Hogan retorted, his fists, eyes and teeth all clenched tightly shut.

A final tug slammed Hogan's back excruciatingly against the chair. His shoulders were being pulled almost beyond endurance. He could already feel his fingers tingling below the restraints.

"Relax, _Colonel_," came the taunting, mock-soothing voice. "Soon enough, you and I will both have exactly what we deserve."

The feared sting of needle piercing flesh made Hogan stiffen and gasp a protest. But there were no answers coming his way. _Because I hate you,_ he heard over and over in his mind. Then once again, he headed for oblivion.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"General Burkhalter, I do not understand; Colonel Hogan assured me that he would never try something like—"

"_Klink!_" Burkhalter's reprimand rattled the rafters as the Kommandant closed the door to his office, blundering and blustering his way back to his desk. "Colonel Hogan was setting you up, trying to make you comfortable so he could sneak out after his men. _And you could not see it coming, Dummkopf!_"

Klink felt angry about Hogan's deception, but even more than that he felt ashamed that he had fallen for it. He had allowed himself to believe that Hogan would be honest with him, that the American was sincere when he told Klink that he was worried about his men and that they would never have left camp on their own. He had wanted to believe, somehow, that Hogan was different from other prisoners, that somehow he was Klink's… could it ever be possible?... Klink's… _friend_.

_Of course it wasn't possible,_ he chided himself now as Burkhalter raged before him. If it was _possible_, Hogan wouldn't have done what he did. He would still be in camp. He would probably be in this very office! _I won't forget this, Hogan. If I ever get you back here, you'll be sorry you deceived me…._

Klink's mind tuned back into Burkhalter's tirade when he heard the General saying, "…this camp like it has a revolving door! That will stop, here and now, Klink. I have arranged for a detachment of guards from the Army to join your guards in ensuring that no more such 'unexpected' escapes happen. In addition, command of this camp, for the present time, will be in my hands." Klink gasped but could say nothing as Burkhalter continued. "Klink, you are temporarily relieved of command. My final decision about your future will be made when I am certain that Stalag 13 is stable." Burkhalter finally stopped to take a breath.

Klink was stunned. "But—But General Burkhalter—"

"Colonel Hogan was sent to this camp specifically to keep him under Luftwaffe control," Burkhalter reminded Klink. "There was, and is, much we need from him, and _I _decided he would come here. So you are not the _only_ one who will suffer for your failure." Burkhalter frowned more fiercely as his voice got even louder. "Hogan was the most important prisoner you had, and you let him fly away like a bird! If I am sent to the Russian front for this, Klink, I promise you that _you_ will be my chauffeur!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan raised his head from his chest, now feeling dizzy and lightheaded even in the darkness, even still sitting bound to this chair. Thanks to the blindfold and the periods of sleep or unconsciousness, Hogan was now completely disoriented. How long had he been here? When had he last eaten? Nauseous in the spinning darkness, he tried to comfort himself with the fact that he was still alive, and aside from being tied up—painfully, his aching shoulders and wrists reminded him—and occasionally given an injection of only-God-knew-what, he had been left relatively unscathed.

_So why am I here?_

His thoughts drifted back to his men. The possibility that they were being held as well was both a torture and a joy. Hogan was anguished by the idea that his men could be suffering, and guilty because if that were true, it would be because of him. _Because I hate you,_ echoed through his mind yet again. _Not my men…_ Hogan prayed silently, fleetingly wondering if God could even hear him. _Not because of me…_

The other side of the coin was brighter, Hogan decided, commanding himself to stop despairing immediately. If they _were_ suffering, _then they were __**alive**_. Back in camp, Hogan had slowly, heartbreakingly, come to accept the possibility that his men—certainly at least Le Beau and Carter—were dead. Nearly two weeks with no word, no sightings, no traces… But if that was Le Beau's voice he had heard in the hallway, then there was hope. _There is always hope…._

A particularly sickening wave of nausea made Hogan swallow hard. He hated this. His head was spinning. Letting it drop made it worse; lifting it hurt his shoulders. Six of one, half a dozen of the other. He let it fall back.

Tired, but with his brain still asking questions without any answers, Hogan resisted falling asleep again. Soon after, he heard the door behind him open. Immediately, his body tensed. He raised his head, alert to every sound. He had to learn something, and soon, or he'd go crazy.

"Ah, still with us, Hogan!" the unknown said brightly. Hogan gritted his teeth. "I'm so glad you decided to stay."

_Don't answer him, just stay quiet...._

"I thought about your questions. And I have decided that I can answer one of them, at least in part."

_God, please… Do you have my men?_

"I thought about the fact that you were not able to identify me, something that disappointed me immensely."

"Not so hard to understand when you're on this side of the blindfold," Hogan replied evenly.

A small chuckle. Controlled, irritating as Hell. Again, Hogan couldn't stop the uneasy feeling he got when he heard it. But the voice continued before he could take the time to think about it more deeply. "Of course, you are right, Hogan. But you probably expect that of yourself."

"Not necessarily."

"So modest," Hogan's captor observed as though impressed. "But so unnecessary. You see, I am fully aware of everything you are capable of. As a matter of fact, I am aware of many of the things your men were capable of as well."

Hogan's heart seized. "Were?"His tormentor merely tutted. "_Where are my men?_"

A long, falsely weary sigh. "I said I would answer _one_ question, Hogan. And _that_ is not the one. I decided that I will give you a hint about who I am, then see if you can figure it out for yourself."

Hogan let his shoulders slump. God, he was tired. He was so, so tired. His flickering hope for his men was taking a beating, and he was too weak to keep up with this sort of banter. He said nothing.

"No objections?" A beat. "_Marvellous._ Here's the hint: I ran into an old acquaintance of yours while I was in England." Hogan strained to listen, hoping desperately to identify his jail keeper. Was this someone whom he and his men had shipped out of Germany against his will? He tried one last, fruitless time to see through his blindfold as the voice moved in closer, nearer to his face. "I'd call him a friend… but I don't think you'd look at it that way. You see, he was the man responsible for shooting you down over Hamburg in 1942. He told me you asked him to wish you a happy birthday before you—_jumped out of a plane_ to go back to Stalag 13!" An amused chuckle followed.

Hogan grew cold. _He's talking about Biedenbender. Biedenbender's in a special prison camp till the end of the war! Did he meet him there? Is __**Biedenbender**__ behind this?_ _Is he going to torture me forever?_ Try as he might, Hogan couldn't block out the face of the man who had visited camp that disturbing day, finally revealing to Hogan just whom had set upon him that unforgettable summer afternoon when he'd bailed out of his plane and into a living Hell. The Hell had been made just slightly more bearable by running the current—now badly damaged—operation, which had allowed him to push his anger and humiliation to as far in the back of his mind as possible.

But it was all flooding back to him now. Hogan bowed his head.

The move wasn't lost on his tormentor, whose voice turned smug with satisfaction. "I see you remember the General. He had _so _much to say about you. He told me you were quite an elaborate planner. I must admit, I agreed with him, once I met others who had had encounters with you _after_ me. I had originally hoped that you had been discovered and executed. But now I'm glad you didn't leave us. Because this… is so much better."

Hogan said nothing, and did not move.

"Nothing to say, Hogan?"

"I don't have any _elaborate plans_," Hogan said hoarsely. Was it the dryness of his throat, or fear changing his voice? "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Don't worry. I'm confident you will think of something. You will have plenty of time to consider it." A soft touch on Hogan's cheek; the Colonel flinched involuntarily. "Just remember, Hogan: I'll be watching you. You… and others."

Hogan could not answer, and a long silence left him wondering if his captor had silently slipped away. His shoulders burned, his insides were aflame, yet he dared not even try to move until he was sure he was alone. One minute… two… four… six. Hogan felt perspiration soaking his blindfold, stoking the fire encasing his brain. Finally, he let out a tiny whisper of despair, and sagged until his restraints cut deeply enough to stop him.

A low, delighted laugh and the sound of a door opening and closing told him he had not held his fears inside long enough.


	12. Chapter 11, Prisoners

No ownership of the _Hogan's Heroes_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Storyline, text, and original characters belong to LJ Groundwater.

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"Hurry up, _hurry up!_" Olsen shouted down the ladder, even as Baker scrambled up the rungs to get back into the common room. They had just gotten the bunk bed lowered into its proper position when the door to the barracks flew open and four guards burst in, rifles at the ready, followed by General Burkhalter and Colonel Klink.

The prisoners hurried to attention. Burkhalter didn't waste time speaking to them. "Check Hogan's quarters first," he ordered the guards, waving them toward the American's office. Hogan's men looked at each other apprehensively but said nothing.

Klink bolted to attention as the General turned to him. "The others who escaped were also from this barracks, weren't they?"

"That's right, General," Klink replied. "Carter. Kinchloe. The Englander, Newkirk. The Frenchman, Le Beau. All men close to Hogan, sir."

"Barrack-mates." Burkhalter nodded thoughtfully, then eyed the other men in the room suspiciously. "And yet the rest of you have been left behind." His eyes narrowed. "That means either Hogan didn't want to take you with him, or you helped him to get out. Which is it?"

Foster, Baker and the others looked at each other, then back at Burkhalter. "It's neither, sir," Baker declared.

"Neither?" Burkhalter repeated, skeptical.

"That's right, sir. If Colonel Hogan was going to escape, he would take his men with him." Baker paused, then added, "We didn't help him to get out, General. And I don't think he meant to leave, either."

Burkhalter let out a "harrumph" of disbelief. "Don't tell me you are going to insist that Colonel Hogan had no intention of leaving Stalag 13!" he said accusingly.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, sir," Baker dared to reply.

"Never have I heard so many men insist that prisoners do not wish to escape from their prison!" Burkhalter exploded. "Klink! _All_ the prisoners are confined to barracks, and the guard is to be doubled at all posts. And you will make sure that _this _barracks has _more_ than that. You understand?"

Klink's head continued to bob up and down. "_Yes_, _Herr_ General. _Certainly_,_ Herr_ General. I'll get right on it, sir."

The guards came out of Hogan's quarters, shaking their heads, their hands empty. "Nothing, General Burkhalter," reported one. The prisoners gave silent thanks; Hogan always _had_ known how to keep his sensitive material extremely well-hidden.

"Very well. Search the rest of the barracks for anything that may give us clues about how Hogan and his men escaped from the camp. Then report to the Sergeant of the Guard and take up your new posts with the others." Burkhalter turned back to the prisoners as the guards accepted their orders. "The rest of you will be watched very closely. Any attempts to follow Hogan or the others will not be tolerated!" He turned abruptly toward the door of the hut. "Klink, come with me."

"Yes, _Herr_ General," the Kommandant answered, hurrying to keep up with his superior officer.

Scotty left the door open a crack and watched the Germans head toward Klink's office. When he was sure it was safe, he shut the door and turned back to the others, who were weak with relief. "Geez, that was close," Scotty said.

"You can say that again," Olsen agreed. He waved the men toward the table as he sat down. "So what'd London say?" he asked Baker.

Baker looked from one man to the next. "They want us to stand down for now. They said they'll contact us when they want us to pick up the ball again—but they wouldn't say when that might be." He paused. "In the meantime, they want us to just…"

The uncomfortable looks the men exchanged confirmed they were all thinking the same thing: "…be regular prisoners," Foster finished quietly, his eyes falling to the floor.

Baker nodded, disheartened. "Yep. Just regular prisoners."

"With no escapes," Olsen added. He let out a heavy breath. "Right?"

Baker nodded again. "Yep. In case Klink's still here and we need to save his backside for…" He paused, unhappy to pass on the rest of the message. "…the next commanding officer."

"That's looking pretty unlikely," Scotty observed sharply, offended by London's presumption that Colonel Hogan wouldn't be coming back. "Burkhalter's on a rampage."

Olsen sighed again. "Yep. But if Newkirk and the others' disappearances are anything to go by, the chance of Colonel Hogan suddenly re-appearing doesn't seem likely either." His voice grew very quiet as he concluded, "London's just sentenced us to prison without parole."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan's shoulders burned from the strain of having his wrists tied so tightly behind the chair. He tried to raise his head a little to take some of the pressure off his bowed back, but the rope he had awoken to find around his neck started to constrict, so he stopped, cursing silently as he reminded himself for the umpteenth time that the rope was also wrapped around his knees, and his legs were tied to the chair, so any resistance would only tighten the noose and choke him. _Shot while trying to escape_, flashed through his mind. A bitter smile found its way onto his face. _I should be so lucky,_ he thought. _Here it would more like, __**strangled himself**__ while trying to escape. _

For the hundredth time, Hogan ran through all the possible reasons for being in the situation he was in now. Someone had sold him out. Someone had gotten lucky and stumbled upon the operation. Someone had seen him committing acts of sabotage. Someone had a personal vendetta against him. None of the above. _All_ of the above. What did it matter now? _It matters,_ he tried to force himself to think despite the drug working so hard to muddle his brain; _it might be the key to figuring out what's going to happen next. _And who _was_ his captor? He knew the voice; he was _sure_ of it. But it had been so long ago, and he was still so tired....

A single fly was buzzing around him. He couldn't see it, thanks to the blindfold that was so tightly and expertly covering his eyes. But he could hear it. How had it survived the winter? Hogan thought meaninglessly, despairing beyond reason when it landed on the back of his sweat-drenched neck. He could feel its tiny feet feeling their way along, and the itch was almost unbearable. But he knew that any sudden movement to scare it away would only cause his ropes to tighten even more, and in the end, the fly would still be able to come back. "Go 'way," he whispered, as he felt it crawl toward the back of his left ear. "Please. Please go away." Finally he gave in to the urge and gave the slightest shake of his head. He winced as the rope made him gag, then felt unashamedly close to tears as the tiny feet once again danced lightly across his skin.

"Steady…. Steady, Hogan. Steady," he managed. Though his voice was hoarse and shaky, he found comfort in hearing it. Completely ignorant to everything around him, it was the one thing that kept him grounded in reality. How easy it would be to succumb to the hopelessness in which this predicament longed to cocoon him. He willed his thoughts away from his surroundings and focused on breathing slowly and calmly, and then started to occupy his mind. "George Washington… no party. John Adams… Federalist. Thomas Jefferson… Democratic-Republican. James Madison… Democratic-Republican." He had gotten as far as the ninth president, and was debating the man's political leanings, when he heard a door open behind him. He immediately stopped his ramblings and held his labored breath.

Within seconds, someone was unbearably close, breathing in his ear. "Hello, Hogan. You are enjoying your stay?"

A feather-light touch on his cheek. Hogan automatically jerked away and felt the reprimand of the unforgiving ropes as he choked and submitted to their discipline. _Whig… Harrison was a Whig…._

"Nothing to say, Hogan? No more questions for me?"

_He was the first… to die in office, so number ten… was also a Whig… and that was…that was… John Tyler. _Hogan breathed out in relief. His mind, at least, was still free.

"You would like a drink of water, perhaps?" came the voice.

The mention of a soothing drink only brought Hogan's attention back to the fire in his throat. He swallowed with difficulty, feeling the tautness of the rope around his neck, and he said nothing, though inside he was praying for whoever this visitor was to show some compassion and at least quench his thirst.

Hogan heard the sound of liquid being poured into a glass. In spite of himself, hope grew inside, and footsteps came closer. "You must lift your head up so you can drink properly," the voice said.

Hogan bit his lip; the prerequisite was impossible. If he lifted his head, he would strangle himself. "Mm—" is all he said, his eyes closed tightly under his blindfold, his lips parched and pursed, his back ready to break even as his shoulders and arms were strained to their limits.

"Oh, no?" said his tormenter.

Hogan heard the water as it was poured slowly onto the floor at his feet. A barely audible gasp of protest escaped his mouth before he could bite his lip to stop it. _No…_ he pleaded silently.

"Very well, Hogan," said the unknown captor, as if he hadn't heard the sound, though Hogan knew somehow that he did. Then suddenly Hogan was struggling wildly for air as the rope around his neck was tugged tightly and his jailer moved in and spoke in a low, spiteful rasp into his ear. "How does it feel, Hogan, to lose everything?"

And with those words, an enemy from Hogan's past came back to haunt him.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Schultz, make sure you do whatever General Burkhalter tellsyou to do," Klink said, ineffectively picking papers up off his desk and moving them to another spot, then picking them up and moving them back. "Stalag 13 is under his control. And even if it weren't, he's a General and I'm only a Colonel. He'd have more say than me anyway."

Schultz shook his head unhappily. "_Herr_ Kommandant, it is _terrible_ that the General thinks you _lied_ to him."

Klink waved a dismissive hand toward the Sergeant. "It's not _me_ who he thinks lied, Schultz; it's Hogan. Hogan told me he would never try to escape from here, and _I_ was foolish enough to believe him." He snorted a "harrumph" as he came around his desk and headed for the outer office. "'My word as an officer and a gentleman,'" he mocked. "So much for _that_ being worth anything any more. Honor must have gone out with the last war." He shoved a wad of documents into the top drawer and slammed it, not noticing when some of the papers sprung back up and jammed the drawer open. "No," he seethed. "That Hogan… he _used_ me. All the way through, he just used me. He helped his men to get out, and then he followed them. And now he's helped me, too—to get to the Russian front."

Klink marched back into his office. Schultz trailed behind him. "But Kommandant, when Colonel Hogan's men disappeared, he seemed so _very_ upset."

"Yes, so he was a wonderful _actor_, as well!" Klink accused. Picking up yet another pile of papers, he looked at them and suddenly paused, realizing he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. He sat down at his desk. "Oh, Schultz, it was a mistake, a big, big mistake, and _I_ made it. Hogan's been a prisoner here for over a year now, things have gone so smoothly. I wanted to believe him when he told me that he understood how things had to be at Stalag 13. In the end, it was just part of a grand, elaborate scheme to get out of Germany."

A tiny smile curled the outer edges of his mouth. "You know, Schultz? I'm not even _angry_ at Colonel Hogan. It was his duty as an officer to try and escape, and it was my duty to see through his ploy to succeed. _I_ failed, Schultz: _me_. Wilhelm Klink. Colonel Hogan is not to blame. I wish him luck, wherever he is. He deserves it, for playing me so very, _very_ well."

Disturbed but not able to offer any real comfort to his superior officer, Schultz asked hesitantly, "So what happens _now_, _Herr_ Kommandant? Will the Gestapo be coming here?"

Klink shook his head as he considered the abrupt changes taking over the camp. "Not right now, Schultz. That's one thing we can be grateful for: General Burkhalter doesn't want them interfering in what should be a Luftwaffe matter. Major Hochstetter was always too gung-ho for my taste anyway; with Hogan gone, maybe he will stay away from here permanently.

"You will continue as Sergeant of the Guard. The extra guards brought in by General Burkhalter will be under your authority for the time being. You must remember that the men of Barracks Two are to be under extra-heavy watch in case Hogan was not supposed to be the last one to leave. Anyone caught trying to escape…" Klink paused. Then, remembering the vehemence with which Burkhalter had made this final decision, he forced out the words, "will be shot."

Schultz swallowed any arguments. "_Jawohl_, _Herr _Kommandant." He brought himself to attention. "I will attend to these matters at once, sir."

"Very good, Schultz," Klink answered. As the guard saluted and turned to leave, the Colonel added, "And Schultz—tell our guards to aim low."


	13. Chapter 12, A Reunion Of Sorts

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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Hogan sat, tied and trembling, trying very hard to hold himself together as he let all the facts descend upon him. Every clue he had picked up, every idea he thought he'd had—none of it had led to this. As soon as the words met his ears, his memories of the voice, the laugh, the touch all came together. It didn't seem possible, it _couldn't_ have been—and yet now, even without seeing his captor, Hogan knew exactly who he was dealing with: a man who had driven Hogan to the very edge of his mental endurance, and then went a step farther by threatening the safety of his men. A man who had acted so differently from the monsters who had inflicted more than enough physical torture on him. A man whom Hogan's men had gleefully, vengefully sent to England almost a year ago.

A Gestapo officer named Major Franz Oberholzer.

Hogan shuddered, remembering the ease with which Oberholzer had toyed with and then nearly crushed Hogan's mind when he'd only been a prisoner for a few months. The German officer had questioned Hogan interminably at Stalag 13, then dragged him—and Carter—out of camp and to a munitions plant that he correctly suspected Hogan had ordered to be bombed by the Allies. It was only through the quick work of his men and the camp medic, Joseph Wilson, that Hogan and Carter had made it out alive.

But Oberholzer had been sent back to London via the Underground—Hogan himself had confirmed that when he was well enough to do so. And as far as Hogan knew, no one had ever escaped from the POW camp in England that held the operation's "special packages." Even after that fire several months ago, Headquarters had assured him that in the end everyone was accounted for. A bitter smile twisted onto his cracked and hurting lips. _No one had ever escaped…_ Wasn't that Klink's boast? And what did the Allies think of _him_?

Still, Hogan was certain his superiors would have let him know if anyone had gotten away. _So why hadn't they told him about Oberholzer? Was it because they didn't know?_ The duck tape suddenly made sense, Hogan realized. Oberholzer must have stolen it from the detention camp. If he could get out without anyone realizing it, then he could certainly steal a few things along the way. Getting back into Germany wouldn't be terribly difficult either, he knew; there was always plenty of traffic coming this way. Another shiver as Hogan imagined the German stowing away in a plane or a boat with the poor unsuspecting crew having no idea the kind of baggage they were carrying.

Hogan's mind moved to his men. Oberholzer would be holding a very deep and personal grudge against them for tricking him into thinking Hogan had swallowed cyanide to avoid intensive interrogation—and then bundling him off at gunpoint in a stolen car. In his head he reran the voice he had heard in the hallway. He had been almost certain it was Le Beau's. But would Oberholzer have kept his men alive? Had he taken them at all? And what was he planning now? Would _anyone _know where Hogan was now? There were too many unanswered questions, and the way he was trussed up in the chair and unable to move, Hogan could hardly think straight. All he could do now was wait.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The men of Barracks Two glared at the door as it closed yet again. "Every hour, on the hour!" complained Foster. "You could set your watch by it."

"They're pushing their luck, that's for sure," Olsen agreed. How many times had a guard come in unannounced, counted the prisoners, opened every locker and looked under every mattress and then left?

"They're not doing this in the _other_ barracks," Sergeant Thomas grumbled. "It's just for _us_." He heaved his shoulders. "Thanks to that oversized Kraut balloon saying we needed special attention because this was Colonel Hogan's barracks."

"_And_ Newkirk's, _and_ Kinch's, _and_ Le Beau's, _and_ Carter's," added Foster. He sighed. "Maybe London's doing us a favor, making us ordinary prisoners for awhile," he suggested. "I'm not sure I'd wanna be wherever they all are right now. Whether the others meant to escape or not—and I don't think they _did_—I have a feeling they aren't in a good place."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan held his breath as he felt Oberholzer's soft, invasive touch whisper across his jaw and the back of his neck, finally coming to rest between his shoulders, which were incredibly sore and screaming for relief. His eyes were closed, his fists were clenched. He was physically still, but his mind was racing.

After a moment, Oberholzer asked very politely: "Still trying to work it out, Hogan?"

As usual, Hogan realized, the German could almost read his mind. "It's _Colonel_ Hogan, Oberholzer," he corrected as he exhaled, exasperated. It wasn't the rank that mattered, Hogan believed; it was the _respect_ that went with the title. If nothing else, Hogan had decided that he was going to force his captor to respect him—something that might possibly save his life, somehow.

"So you _do _remember me! I'm so glad," came Oberholzer's mock-soothing voice. He rubbed the top of Hogan's back hard with the hand he had let rest there. Hogan gritted his teeth and bit back a moan. "And it _is_ 'Colonel', isn't it?" the German said. His hand stilled. "You are an officer. An officer held in an enlisted man's camp. An officer who used to lead the mighty 504th Bomb Group. But you lost them, didn't you, _Colonel_ Hogan?" A "tut" from between his teeth. "You lost them… and then you lost your men from Stalag 13. Quite a reputation you're making for yourself, isn't it? One would think you'd learn from your mistakes and protect your men simply by staying away from them!"

Oberholzer's gleeful laugh at his own joke drove Hogan to the edge. Past humiliation, beyond rage, he gave an infuriated jerk of his body to get the German's hand off of him. But that only served to tighten the rope around his neck, and he gagged and spluttered, trying to catch his breath. His back, neck and shoulders responded angrily to his movements, and now his body was throbbing intensely in protest of his actions.

And worst of all, Oberholzer hadn't moved.

"You have no control here, _Colonel Hogan_," Oberholzer said.

"_Where are my men?_" Hogan asked again.

Oberholzer's hand moved up and grabbed the scruff of Hogan's neck tightly. Hogan managed to stifle only some of his involuntary moan by pulling in and holding a sharp breath. Then Oberholzer's warm breath landed softly on his cheek as the German said in a low voice, "Good night, Colonel. Sleep well. Perhaps the answer to that question will be waiting for you… later."

"_N-no!"_ But the now-familiar prick of the dreaded needle came, and Hogan drew in deep, shaking breaths while he still could, and waited for nothingness to come, and wondering if it would be the last time.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Leave him alone! Do you hear me? _Leave him alone!_"

Hogan struggled to open his eyes, his chest once again aching and heavy, his head feeling light but pounding. The anger and the force of the voice he was hearing were compelling him to come out of his unwanted blackness, but part of him couldn't help but wish the voice would stop so he could cease fighting the effects of whatever he had been injected with yet again and just sleep.

Millimeter by grueling millimeter, his eyelids parted, and he realized belatedly that he was no longer wearing a blindfold. The light in the room was piercing, painful, and he clamped his eyes shut, involuntarily trying to take in a deep breath to counteract the shards of pain that ripped through his skull—and failing. _You lose again…._ Hogan heard Oberholzer's infuriatingly calm voice echoing in his head. He forced the thought away.

The noise continued and, even more slowly this time, Hogan opened his eyes and tried to get them to adjust. _I'm not tied up,_ he realized, as the dazzling white before him mercifully receded and he found that he was once again on the floor. His back hurt, so he tried to roll onto his side, groaning as abused and stiff muscles were forced to move, and it concerned him that even that small action left his chest aching. He pressed a hand up to his chest, trying to appease his lungs, but he knew that it was really only about a full minute of steady breathing—without him trying to move—that would help relieve the tightness.

It was a full minute he didn't have time for.

"_Get away from him, you ruddy madman. Do you hear me?"_

This time Hogan was certain. There was no mistaking that accent, those words, that gravelly, defiant voice. _Newkirk…_

Gasping for even the tiniest breath, Hogan strained to hear. Newkirk was angry, defensive and, if Hogan knew his English Corporal—and he was sure he did—scared. _You've gotta find out what's going on. Get up,_ Hogan ordered himself. But with so little strength, he was slow in obeying his own command. Alternately gritting his teeth against the pain in his head, shoulders and back, and panting to offset the burning in his chest, he finally made it to his knees, where he paused, lightheaded. Unable to stop swaying, he braced his hands on the floor in front of him and waited, and when the world stopped tilting crazily, he drew back his hands to his knees, closed his eyes and simply tried to catch his breath.

He hated feeling like a helpless child again, hoping and praying that he would soon be able to breathe easily. Had Oberholzer known that this would make Hogan feel so vulnerable? He began to wonder if there was anything the German _didn't_ know about him. He certainly knew that Hogan's men were his primary focus; he had proven that when he came to Stalag 13 so long ago….

_My men._ Hogan opened his eyes as at least a bit of somewhat normal, if shallow, breathing was restored. Mentally preparing himself, he pushed his hands against the floor, noticing incidentally that he was now wearing his bomber jacket, and pulled himself to his feet. Immediately, he broke out in a cold sweat and felt himself reeling. He threw his hands out as he staggered dizzily, hoping to make contact with a wall before he ended up on his face on the floor. It worked, but yet again Hogan had to rest. Letting the wall hold him up, he wondered, _How the hell am I going to get out of here when I can't even walk across the room?_

He felt a tiny ripple of panic when he heard the door open. He hadn't had time to look around the room and get himself orientated, and he just knew that he wasn't going to enjoy whatever was going to happen next. He tried to continue breathing steadily as he turned his eyes toward the sound.

"Colonel Hogan. How wonderful to see you on your feet."

The cold fear that gripped Hogan when he finally laid eyes on Major Oberholzer took him by surprise. His sore, tired eyes were looking at a monster. He could not speak.

Oberholzer moved toward him smoothly, easily. Hogan's short, sharp breaths sped up, and instinctively he pressed himself up against the wall as the German moved closer and closer. Finally, Oberholzer was directly in front of him, and, ordering himself not to look away, Hogan swallowed hard and asked in a shaking, whispering voice, "Where… are… my… men?"

As though he was fully aware of the impact he was having on his prisoner, a satisfied smile crept up onto Oberholzer's face. "Come," he said pleasantly, "you will see them."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Unable to take deep breaths and still dizzy and lightheaded, Hogan wasn't surprised that Oberholzer took no special precautions when he pulled his captive away from the wall and practically dragged him out of the room. The chance of Hogan being able to get more than a few feet away before having to stop or falling over was almost nonexistent. But the cheerful nature that the Gestapo officer seemed to have had when he came to confront Hogan had disappeared, and Oberholzer was no longer being either patient or light-handed. If Hogan stumbled, or faltered in his step, the Major growled and cursed at him, then yanked Hogan back into place, hard. Hogan tried to see if he recognized where he was, but nothing seemed familiar; one hallway was just like the next.

Finally, Oberholzer shoved Hogan through a doorway and into another room, pointing to a chair into which Hogan practically fell gratefully. For a few seconds, he took no notice of his surroundings, needing to concentrate fully on getting his breath back and willing away the pain that had renewed its strength on the short journey.

But his time was limited; he grimaced as Oberholzer pulled him upright by the shoulders. "Look."

Hogan tried to focus his eyes. In front of him was a large pane of glass, and on the other side of it were… Le Beau and Carter.

Hogan's eyes immediately filled with tears. In spite of everything that had happened, and how much Hogan had forced himself to try and accept the inevitable conclusion that these two men were probably dead and buried, the tiniest of tiny pleas had continued daily in his heart. And to see them now, clearly alive, was overwhelming.

The pair of them were tied up in hardback chairs, much like Hogan imagined he had been, but there was one distinct difference: the rope around each of their necks was tied to the neck of the other, and as the chairs faced each other, Hogan realized what the Gestapo officer had planned: if one moved, the other suffered. And worst of all, Hogan saw, was that they were both blindfolded and gagged—unable to see each other, unable to speak to each other, to warn the other if they needed to move, unable to comfort each other in this incredible, frightening time.

Their arms were secured to the arms of the chairs with duck tape, Hogan noticed, and their legs to the legs of the chairs. Hogan strained to study the set-up. Would they be able to work out a code by tapping their feet, or their fingertips? Did either of them even know the other was there?

Oberholzer's voice interrupted Hogan's thoughts. "Before you get any ideas, Colonel Hogan: this is specially treated glass. You can see them, but they can't see you, or hear you."

Hogan continued staring at his men. Le Beau looked gaunt, thinner than he had the last time Hogan had seen him. It surprised him, although he realized later that it shouldn't have; if Le Beau was getting the same food rations that Hogan was—and so far, that was nothing—it was amazing that the Frenchman was even conscious. Carter, his head bowed in deference to the ropes, also seemed thin, dirty and tired. But otherwise, neither of them looked like he had suffered much physical abuse. _Thank You, God. Thank You._

"This one… he is the one you protect," Oberholzer said with a nod in Carter's direction.

Hogan looked straight at Carter. "I think I told you the last time you mentioned that: these men don't need my protection." Then he cursed himself for reacting exactly as Oberholzer had expected him to.

"So I recall," Oberholzer replied. "But perhaps you need theirs."

"What do you want from me, Oberholzer?" Hogan asked again, angry and frustrated and tired and hurting.

At this, the Major turned fully away from the glass and placed himself directly in front of Hogan. He stared down at the American Colonel, and his eyes became hard and fixed. "I want my redemption."

Hogan frowned but said nothing.

"I was right about you all along, Hogan. You had a fantastic operation, an amazing network of people doing exactly what you ordered them to do, just as I suspected. I brought you and your little cub, Sergeant Carter, to the munitions factory that I _knew_ was going to be targeted by your bombers. I was willing to sacrifice my own life to prove that I was correct and to stop you. I was certain that their loyalty would be their—and _your_—downfall, and instead, it was your savior and _my_ downfall. You and your men changed—_ended_—my life. My superiors in Berlin believe that I was killed in the bombing raid that finally destroyed that plant near Hammelburg. But in reality I was sent to England, to wait out the war. _To England!_ That rat hole of a country that has no backbone and a leader who is delusional in his confidence of victory."

"Sounds not unlike a certain Austrian housepainter I know of," Hogan couldn't help saying.

The flippant remark was a mistake, given Oberholzer's current state of mind. The Gestapo officer grabbed Hogan violently by the front of his shirt and slapped him hard across the face. Hogan's head snapped to one side as it absorbed the blow, and white stars burst in his skull, reigniting the headache that had blessedly dulled awhile ago.

"_You_ will not speak disrespectfully of _der_ _Führer_!" Oberholzer screamed at him as he recovered. "You have humiliated the German people enough, with your _secret business_, your _covert operations_. You believe the Allies are right, that the Fatherland must be served yet another dish of humiliation. Well, you are _wrong_! _Der_ _Führer_ believes in us; _der_ _Führer_ knows that we are a strong, good people; _der_ _Führer_ will lead the German people to victory!"

Hogan looked again through the glass. Le Beau and Carter had not moved. He was tempted to call out, but he suspected Oberholzer had not been lying when he said they could not hear him. If only he could let them know he was here with them… or did they already know he had also been captured? "If you're so thrilled with your _Führer_," Hogan persisted, his voice, like his energy, weakened, "why aren't you with him _now_?"

Like he had flicked a switch, Oberholzer's anger disappeared, once more replaced by a calm, tolerant, frighteningly pleasant mood. "It is as I told you, Hogan: because I hate you. Because I sat for months in a prison camp in England dreaming of this moment, waiting for just the right time to come back here to end your life, as you ended mine. And because this time, I am going to make absolutely certain, that before you die, _you lose everything._ And _everything_, for a man like you, Colonel Hogan, is your dignity… and your men."

* * *

*Note: for the full story of Franz Oberholzer, see my story _Now and Then_, which was posted some time ago.


	14. Chapter 13, The Full Story

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to LJ Groundwater. Thanks.

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General Burkhalter stood behind Klink's desk, looking frighteningly like he belonged there. He crossed his hands behind his back. "So, Colonel Hogan has not returned, Klink, despite the assurances of his men that he had no intention of leaving."

Klink had uncharacteristically left his riding crop in his quarters, and he struggled now to find something to do with his hands besides wringing them in front of the General. "That is correct, General Burkhalter."

"So what do you think happened, Klink?" Burkhalter asked, pacing the little area. _Like an attorney summing up his prosecution,_ the Kommandant couldn't help noticing.

"I do not know, _Herr_ General," Klink answered this same question for at least the fifth time. He hastened to add, also for at least the fifth time, "But no one else has left since then, sir!"

Burkhalter favored him with a sarcastic, slit-eyed twist of a smile. "How fortunate. I wonder when the next _unintentional _departure is scheduled."

Klink laughed falsely as his fear level increased. "That's very funny… General Burkhalter—"

"_No, it isn't!_" Burkhalter exploded.

"No, it isn't, sir," Klink amended immediately. _Hogan, I will never forgive you for this…._

"I am expected to make my regular report to _Reichmarschall_ _Göring _tomorrow afternoon; what am I to say to him? That Hogan _changed his mind_ after a year of compliance? Only a fool would believe that. Hogan has been planning this all along, and _you_ were too blind to see it! And because you report to _me_, Klink, I will be standing right beside you in front of the firing squad!"

Klink shook his head, fearful and desperate. "But General Burkhalter, other prison camps have had many, many more escapes than Stalag 13 has; surely the _Reichmarschall_ cannot despair over a small handful of men…."

"The other men were _nothing_!" Burkhalter exploded venomously. "_Hogan_ was the prize! An American flying ace whom we captured and broke, who was subject to our will whenever we chose, whom we could study and use to improve the performance and superiority of our own people. It was _my responsibility_ to see that nothing interfered with that objective! It is why I decided Hogan was to be assigned to Stalag 13—to keep him bound to the prisoners, responsible for their wellbeing, less likely to try to escape. And easy to access when Berlin wanted him. And I let you be too _soft_, Klink! You _coddled_ Hogan, and he wrapped your _soft brain_ right around his little finger!"

Klink lowered his head. Burkhalter was right. No matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, there was no escaping the fact that although there had been no escapes from Stalag 13 while Hogan had been here with him, the American Colonel had slowly worked his way into Klink's own consciousness. Starting on Hogan's first day in camp, when he stood in this very same spot in front of Klink's desk, exhausted and almost catatonic after what Klink later learned had been months of ill treatment, but with a sudden, single flash of proud defiance that immediately told Klink he was dealing with no ordinary prisoner of war. Continuing over the next few months as Hogan became almost a part of the furniture in the office; Klink could almost anticipate when Hogan was going to make an appearance—_almost_—and if he was honest with himself, he looked forward to the interruptions from the daily routine, most of the time. Hogan was a different breed of man, Klink knew, and he had respected the American for his ability to have control over his subordinates, while at the same time clearly having their loyalty.

_So loyal that they wouldn't leave until you did... and that they would stay after you left if you told them to?_

Klink sighed inwardly.

"…and maybe _they_ can salvage this disaster," Burkhalter had continued while Klink had been lost in his own thoughts.

"_The Gestapo?_" Klink gasped. "But General Burkhalter, I thought you didn't want the Gestapo to be involved in this—"

"Either we get the Gestapo involved, Klink, or we wonder if they might have been able to find Hogan—while the firing squad is putting on our blindfolds. It has been twenty-four hours. Get on the phone to Major Hochstetter; I'm sure he'll waste no time getting here when he learns the matter concerns Colonel Hogan."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Wolfgang Hochstetter slapped his black gloves into his palm as he moved about Klink's office. "The Gestapo should have been notified _immediately_," he declared with a scowl. "A man like Hogan is too dangerous to be out of our sight for even _one minute_." He paused as he was about to pass Klink. "Although even when he's _in_ sight, some people are _blind_."

Klink swallowed hard but remained silent. "We have already been through all that, Hochstetter," Burkhalter said dismissively. "What we need to do now is get Hogan _back_ in sight, and _recaptured_."

"Of course, General," Hochstetter agreed, satisfied that his point had been made.

"What do you suggest?"

"First, we must surround this camp with a ring of steel. No one must leave here," Hochstetter said fiercely, clearly prepared.

"We already have extra guards in all areas, and we are paying particular attention to Hogan's barracks, in case the prisoners who lived with him have any ideas about following him," Burkhalter explained.

"Very good," Hochstetter acknowledged. "Would I then be correct in assuming you have already conducted a thorough search of the surrounding area, paying particular attention to the denser parts of the woods, and any houses that are suspected of harboring partisans?"

"_Of course _patrols have scouted the area," Burkhalter said sharply. "I called you, Hochstetter, because I thought you might have something _different_ to offer in the way of ideas."

Hochstetter absorbed the General's irritability but did not acquiesce to it. "I want to search the barracks—I am sure you have already done that, Colonel Klink," he added smugly, "but I look at things a little differently."

"I'm sure you do, Major Hochstetter," Klink agreed. Belatedly, he realized to his horror how bad that might have sounded.

But Hochstetter took no notice. "Then I will notify Berlin to enlist the help of special trackers. If Colonel Hogan is in Germany… I will find him."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan groaned, writhing uncomfortably on the floor in a state somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness. After Oberholzer had finished showing off two of Hogan's men, he had refused to answer any more questions, and had brought Hogan back down the hall to the room from where he had come. And though Hogan's spirits had been lifted by the knowledge that Le Beau and Carter were still alive, his continued respiratory distress was making it just about impossible to contemplate how to make contact with them, or how to find Kinch and Newkirk, or how to escape. All he could do was take short, gasping breaths, and, weak from a complete lack of water or food, he dozed fitfully, a blessing when he compared it with the overwhelming dizziness he now felt whenever his eyes were open, and was beginning to experience even when they were closed.

A sound nearby brought Hogan into greater awareness, and he opened his eyes with a groan and tried to roll off his back. That did nothing but ignite the blaze in his shoulders, which made him draw in a sharp, hissing breath, which he held until he managed to complete the move, and then he simply lay sprawled on the floor, once again consumed by the need to draw air deeply into his lungs.

Someone clicked his tongue, sounding disappointed, and Hogan remembered that his awareness had been triggered by the sense that someone had come into the room. He opened his eyes and moved his head slowly, trying to work out the stiffness, and to see who was with him.

As if it would be anyone but Oberholzer.

"I thought you might like something to eat," the German said cordially, standing directly above his prisoner. "Come, sit up and have something."

Hogan's sense of preservation immediately kicked in, and he tried to lift himself up faster, an impossible task in his current condition. Still, help was not forthcoming, and he endured the shooting pains in his arms and shoulders without stopping in the hopes that this wasn't one of Oberholzer's cruel jokes. Sure enough, when he managed to get himself upright, he found a glass of water and a sandwich within easy reach. He grabbed the glass immediately, only after the first long swallow even remotely wondering if there was anything dangerous in it. Then he reached out for the food, thinking irrelevantly how much he hated pumpernickel as he nevertheless devoured the ham and cheese on pumpernickel sandwich, believing it to be the best food he had ever tasted.

Oberholzer remained silent as Hogan wolfed down the simple meal, and as the American finished off the last of the water, the Major said, "You need to have your strength now, Colonel. Much is about to happen."

Tracking down a large crumb that had escaped his notice and pushing it greedily into his mouth, Hogan paused. "What have you done to my men?" he asked quietly, turning to look Oberholzer straight in the eye. God, he hoped he looked stronger than he felt.

Oberholzer simply smiled. "Nothing. I wouldn't _dream_ of doing anything to them—not without you being directly responsible, that is."

Hogan winced as a powerful pain assaulted his head, then diminished. When he could think again, he rubbed his temples and suggested in a voice softened by suffering, "Maybe it's time you filled me in on a few things. How did you get back here?"

A light, amused chuckle.

Hogan lowered his hands, bracing one on the floor to steady himself. "What's so funny?" he asked, annoyed.

"You are quite demanding for one who has no control. Still, I suppose you are entitled to some answers. Let me tell you the story, shall I?"

"I'm all ears."

The scrape of a chair moving across the floor made Hogan cringe. Oberholzer sat down comfortably just a couple of feet away, and Hogan remained slumped over at his feet, unable to draw himself up enough to offset the humiliating picture he knew he made. _Make it quick,_ he requested in silence; _I don't think I'm gonna last too long here._

"You, of course, are familiar with how I got to _England_," Oberholzer began. "Your men would have told you what happened at the munitions plant."

Hogan held his breath as he waited for any fallout from the slightly bitter statement. There was none.

"It was all a rather bewildering and _humiliating_ experience. Being pushed around by civilians who had no respect for the Third Reich. Being bundled onto a submarine without warning and sent off to a detention camp like a common criminal."

Hogan could think of half a dozen retorts, almost all of them along the lines of turnabout being fair play or finally getting one's just desserts, but he said none of them.

"I was questioned and then processed. _Processed_," Oberholzer emphasized the word. "Like a slab of meat." The German let the image hang in the air. Hogan remained unmoving at his feet, the only sound that of his labored breathing.

"At first I simply tried to get acclimated. It was extremely difficult to get used to not being a free man any more." He turned his eyes on Hogan now, and they were hard and cold. "The outcome of my assignment, as you can imagine, was quite a surprise."

"That happens in a war," Hogan said through a panting breath. "Somehow you never end up where you think you're going to."

Oberholzer smiled, understanding the deeper meaning of Hogan's words. "How true that is, Hogan," he agreed with a nod. Then he picked up his story again. "It angered me that I would not be able to see my family again, at least until after the war. And it angered me even _more_ to think that in the eyes of my superiors in Berlin, I would be branded a fool."

He looked at Hogan again, as though challenging the American to make a comment. And while there was a remark just _begging_ to be said, Hogan was too wrung out to care about saying it. _Come on, Oberholzer,_ Hogan prompted silently, as his eyelids drooped and he began to sink slightly.

"Eventually, I worked past my shame at being forced out of Germany and started talking to other prisoners. We shared our stories—and all of them included Stalag 13… and you. _You_," Oberholzer repeated, bending over to look Hogan in the face. When the Colonel did not raise his head, the German drew it up by the chin. Hogan stared back with too-bright eyes, feeling a stab in his chest every time he took a shallow breath. "You took my life," Oberholzer snarled.

Hogan didn't answer. His eyes slid away from Oberholzer's. The Major released his grip and Hogan sank further toward the floor. _Finish your story,_ the Colonel thought; _tell me what you're going to do to us…._

"I had to come back, Hogan," Oberholzer continued after observing Hogan for a moment. "I could not—_would _not—be humiliated in this way. It took months of planning. Stealing what I needed from the supply huts, digging secret holding spots, cutting wires in the most fortuitous areas… I must say, the camp _your_ exiled prisoners are housed in is of a much higher quality than that pigsty of a Stalag _Luft_ you were in. Very civilized. Very clean.

"Finally, I managed to get out. But I wasn't going to come back to Germany yet. I went out, killed a homeless man, probably someone who lost his home to the German bombing raids; no one would miss him. Brought him back to camp. Yes, Hogan, it was possible to do all of this—no one suspected a thing. I gave him my dog tags, my clothes… and that night when all was quiet, I started a fire. I slipped out in all the chaos… then watched as our prison warden frantically worked to make sure everyone was safe. And everyone was, of course… except for that poor soul who was caught in the blaze. There was so little left of him, he had to be identified by his dog tags. That one poor man was dead."

Despite his exhaustion, Hogan's mind started working. The fire… London had promised them everyone was accounted for… that someone had died, but no one had escaped…. Suddenly the enormity of Oberholzer's advance planning—and vengeful mindset—hit him like a ton of bricks. "Why didn't you come after me _then_?" he asked, his voice barely loud enough to be heard.

Oberholzer smiled. "There would have been no sport in doing it _then_, Hogan!" he chided. "I wanted to make sure you were comfortable again, confident in the operation. If your men had started to disappear so soon after the fire, you might have started to make connections. Waiting only served to take you by surprise."

"How did you… get back to Germany?" Hogan asked. God, his chest ached. But he needed to know. Somehow, he needed to know.

"That was quite simple. No one was looking for a dead man, so I slipped, unnoticed, into one of your supply planes, and when it landed, I got out, killed the crew, took what I needed… and made my way back toward Stalag 13."

Hogan was bracing his elbows on the floor now, trying to hold out long enough to hear Oberholzer's story, to discover any weakness that might help him to escape, and to get his men out. It was an excruciating task; he could barely keep his eyes open, and it was so very hard to breathe. He was so hot, and yet he was starting to feel so cold…. He struggled to keep the German going. "Alone?" he managed.

If Oberholzer noticed Hogan's difficulty, he made no mention of it. "Yes, alone," he confirmed brightly. "Of course, I had help when I captured your first two men—Sergeant Carter, and the Frenchman. I contacted an old friend in the Gestapo—someone who wasn't necessarily so eager to follow official channels. He helped me, prepared this wonderful hiding place to keep you all." Oberholzer smiled as he looked around the tiny, bare room. "I was most grateful."

_Quite a guy,_ Hogan thought. He had no strength to speak the words aloud.

A slight frown passed over the German's face. "Yes, he was very helpful," he said thoughtfully. "It was unfortunate that I had to kill him. But once my plan was in place, I could not take a chance on any interference. There could be no one else trying to clamor their way up the ranks. It had to be _me _who finally brought you down. And so, now you have _all_ my attention." Oberholzer smiled. "How do you like that, Colonel Hogan?" he asked expectantly.

"I could… do without it," Hogan breathed. Then his arms failed him and his eyes closed as he slid fully and heavily to the floor. Any plotting to get away from his captor would have to wait.


	15. Chapter 14, Dead Ends

No ownership of the _Hogan's Heroes_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters is L J Groundwater's. Thanks.

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_Hmf. I __**told**__ you you would find nothing in there,_ Klink couldn't help thinking smugly, as Hochstetter's men came out of Hogan's quarters empty-handed. The Gestapo officer's face darkened before he turned toward the common room, watching intently as mattresses were pulled off of bunks, lockers were opened and contents thrown to the floor, and even photos and magazine cut-outs were ripped off the walls, looking for any indication as to how Hogan and his men might have made their getaway. Initial loud protests at the intrusion were silenced by Hochstetter's own gun waving with full intent in the prisoners' direction, and now they could only stand mutely, their blood boiling at the indignity.

Burkhalter was waiting for Klink and Hochstetter when they returned to the _Kommandantur_. "And so you have found nothing, Major," he concluded when he saw frustration reflected in the Gestapo officer's red face.

"No; nothing," Hochstetter muttered, scowling. "Either Hogan took extraordinary precautions when planning these escapes, or his men were very good at covering up the evidence once he had gone. And I doubt these other prisoners are that clever. Hogan is a very smart man," he admitted to the General.

"Smarter than _you_," Burkhalter pronounced, "if you are not able to do any more than we have already done."

"That's right," Klink piped up gleefully. "You have done everything _we _have, and you did not come out any better than _we_ did!"

Burkhalter glared at the Kommandant. "Klink, shut up."

"Yes, sir; shutting up," Klink acquiesced at once. Still, he couldn't help a quick, triumphant glance in Hochstetter's direction. The Major's lip curled unpleasantly and he turned away.

"So what do you intend to do _now_, Hochstetter?" Burkhalter asked.

"I must call Berlin. They will dispatch special trackers to hunt Hogan down." Hochstetter spun around to face his superior officers. "Colonel Hogan is not in this camp, it is true. And we cannot find out how he got out. But he is not smart enough to outwit me. I will find him and drag him back to Gestapo Headquarters, and then we shall see how clever he thinks he is. I have a feeling that he is still somewhere in area, and I promise you that no matter how difficult he might think it could be to get out of Germany, I am about to make it harder."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan opened his eyes slowly but didn't try to move. He was getting used to the pattern: first, he was completely exhausted and unable to breathe properly; then, there was a period of unconsciousness, brought on by whatever was in those needles Oberholzer was so fond of; finally, he would discover that Oberholzer had either tied him up again, or moved him. This meant the creation of another pattern: mental fuzziness on wakening, followed by sudden fear that took his already weak breath away, followed by a prayer that was part thankfulness that he was still alive, and part plea that he not have to repeat this cycle yet again. Up to now, the last part of the prayer had gone unheeded.

Unfortunately, Hogan discovered, this time was no different. Waiting for the panic to subside, the Colonel rotated his head gingerly, trying to size up his current situation. He was alone, he noticed to both his relief and his dismay, and he was not tied up. Once again, he was on a bare floor, with nothing soft under him to relieve his weary, aching body. He dragged himself stiffly to a sitting position, trying to hear every sound, trying to see into every corner. The room was well-lit, but there was little to look at: a chair, much like the one Hogan had been secured to in the past; a metal bucket in a corner. That was it. Hogan caressed his face soothingly with his hands before drawing them up over his hair and down to his neck. He stopped when his shoulder blades "caught." A wince and a soft groan, and his hands dropped back in his lap.

Hogan's head was pounding hard, making even thinking uncomfortable, but he couldn't help the thoughts rushing through his brain. Oberholzer had killed to come back, then killed the one person who had helped him—single-mindedly bent on getting revenge on Hogan. _Through my men…_ the Colonel reminded himself. The thought was frightening. How could he get them away?

_First step: find out where we are._ Hogan stood up, immediately wincing as a sharp pain exploded in his skull. He closed his eyes and stood stock still, unable to ignore it or move past it. As the pain eased away, he released the shallow breath he'd been holding and headed for the door, one hand protectively at his temple, the other outstretched in case he lost his precarious balance.

He twisted the doorknob and was surprised when it gave way to his hand. Blinking himself into a more alert state of mind, he placed his other hand firmly against the door and eased it open slowly, silently, and peered through the crack and into the hallway.

Hogan didn't appear to have been moved when he'd lost consciousness; he thought he recognized the hall from his previous journey out. But were all the hallways the same, wherever he was? He listened, swallowing the nausea that came with concentration at the moment, but he heard nothing. Could he really get out of this room? He opened the door a little wider, then a little more, expecting to hear a gun cocking nearby any second, but there was nothing. Finally, he opened the door all the way and slipped out. His back hugging the wall, Hogan looked up and down the corridor. Which way had they gone the last time he'd been out here? He closed his eyes, remembered the sharp shove against his shoulder that was apparently Oberholzer's way of giving directions. _Right._

Hogan turned, instinctively making his way down the hall, pausing every few steps to listen, to dull the throbbing in his head, to catch his breath. His chest still hurt, and it scared him to consider what had been done to him, but he would worry about that later; right now, all that mattered was getting himself and his men away from Oberholzer. _That guy's a madman,_ Hogan decided, as though he hadn't reached that conclusion even before he knew who his captor was. Hogan now fully understood that Oberholzer was simply toying with his prize, and when he felt he had humiliated and abused Hogan enough, that he would kill him. It was revenge. It was personal. _Because I hate you…._

Hogan paused in his step, momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer power Oberholzer had over him. The German knew that no matter what he did to Hogan, that the American officer would always put his men first—and that they, in turn, would do anything to protect him. It was a lesson Oberholzer had learned the hard way when he tried to expose Hogan's operation nearly a year ago. Now, he was going to apply what he had learned. Hogan shuddered as he remembered the Major's casually-delivered declaration:_ I wouldn't __**dream**__ of doing anything to them—not without you being directly responsible._ Oberholzer wouldn't let them go; Hogan would have to free them.

The Colonel leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, nearly laughing at the absurdity of it all. Free them? Him? _How?_

_One step at a time,_ he reminded himself sternly. He drew away from the wall and looked carefully in both directions, then continued his secret journey. _Find them first. __**Then**__ worry about getting them out._ He stopped at a large, solid door, willing himself to remember if this was the right one, angry with himself when he could not. He put both hands up against it, then pressed his ear to it. He heard nothing. He lowered one hand to the door knob, hoping that it would yield as the other one had, and he smiled softly when it did. With one final glance in all directions, he opened the door very cautiously, and eased himself inside the room, closing the door silently behind him.

_No…_ Hogan bowed his head, unprepared for what he found. The room was empty. Somehow in the midst of all his doubts, he had built up hope that he would find his men in here and they could all manage to escape. But this wasn't even the right room—there was no glass, just four bare walls, and nothing else.

Hogan felt unaccustomedly tearful at the discovery. He hadn't realized just how much of his heart he'd truly put into what was a fantasy at best—a delusion, at worst. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. It troubled him not to know if this had all been a chance happening, or if Oberholzer, with his profound sense of psychological warfare, had planned it this way. No matter, Hogan told himself, raising his head with a defiance born of determination; if his men weren't in here, then they were in another room, and he would search every one until he found them.

He turned back toward the door and gave a start when it began opening from the other side. Holding his breath, Hogan braced himself for the sight of his enemy.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"…and make sure you are reporting in to me every two hours. I want to know what is happening every step of the way!"

"_Jawohl, Herr Major."_

Hochstetter watched, satisfied, as the men he had called from Gestapo Headquarters in Hammelburg split up and headed out the gate of the camp, some leading dogs, others simply in groups. Without looking at Colonel Klink standing beside him, he declared, "This is how you find Colonel Hogan, Klink. And the others from Berlin will be arriving early this evening. We will have that slippery eel back in this prison camp before the sun rises tomorrow morning."

Klink stared out past the gates and into the woods. "Hogan will not be in those woods, Major Hochstetter," he predicted. "He would know it is foolish to stay nearby."

"It was foolish of Hogan to _escape_," Hochstetter replied, "but he did it anyway. Now, he has _me_ to deal with. And I will not be as soft as you have been, when he is found." He paused and let his eyes roam the compound. "You will conduct another roll call."

"_Another_ one?" Klink whined. "But we just had one two hours ago—"

"Yes, _another one_, Klink!" Hochstetter roared. "Start with Hogan's barracks. And see that the prisoners stay outside and in formation until my men have had a chance to search their living quarters again. There will be something in there, Klink… and I will not give up until I find it."

Klink looked at the other men Hochstetter had recruited, who were scanning every inch of the compound, once again looking closely at the gates, at the fence, at the water tower…. They had done all of this before and found nothing. Why couldn't Hochstetter just admit that Hogan was gone? _You will not find him, you stupid little man…. Just do what you will and put me out of my misery sooner rather than later. Hogan, I hope you're satisfied. I will never forgive you for this as long as I live._ "I understand, Major," he said resignedly. Then he called to Schultz, and did the rounds… again.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Hogan, what a surprise, finding you in here!"

The complete lack of anger or real astonishment in Oberholzer's greeting answered Hogan's question about whether or not he had been set up. He tried not to show how anxious he was about being caught. "Really, Major?" he asked in a tone meant to sound nonchalant. The hand holding Oberholzer's pistol was steady and aiming straight at him. "Somehow I have the feeling this is _exactly_ where you expected to find me."

Oberholzer nodded appreciatively. "Not _exactly_, Hogan," he corrected. "I thought your sense of direction would have been a _little_ bit better." He smiled. "But no matter; I will take you where you were trying to go."

"The front door?" Hogan quipped. "That's awfully kind of you, Major."

Oberholzer didn't stop smiling as he shut the door behind him, closing him and Hogan into the small room together. "I hardly think you would head out the front door right now, Hogan, even if I led you to it myself."

"Oh? And why is that?" Hogan asked.

One more infuriatingly amused-sounding reply. "Because I know you _too well_, Hogan!" Oberholzer replied. "Because you know I have _your men_ here somewhere… and you would never think of getting yourself to safety while you believe they are still in danger. I am right, of course?"

The question was more of a statement, and it irked Hogan that Oberholzer was "right, of course." He didn't answer, settling on glaring at the German instead, taking advantage of his silence to catch his breath.

Oberholzer laughed, angering Hogan even more. "I thought so! Come, Hogan, you've been too long away from your underlings. It is time for you to visit." He opened the door and gestured grandly for Hogan to exit ahead of him. "I think at last, you will get what you've been waiting for."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"What have you done to him?" Hogan demanded angrily as he stared at Kinch lying motionless on the floor. _God… no…_

Oberholzer simply smiled. "Don't worry, Hogan. He is still very much alive."

"_What have you done to him?"_ Hogan asked again. Did he sound afraid? He hoped not. But in the end, did it really matter? Oberholzer would know how he was feeling; so far, he always did.

"Stop worrying, Hogan. He will be fine. He was simply more… aggressive than I cared for and needed to be quieted down for a little while. I'm sure you know how strong Sergeant Kinchloe can be."

Hogan felt a small shiver run through him. "'Quieted down'?"

"Relax," Oberholzer said pleasantly, patting Hogan's arm. "He will be up soon."

"Where are the others?"

"Wait and see."

Oberholzer turned abruptly and walked out of the room, locking the door behind him. Hogan stared through the glass. Kinch was moving slightly now, and Hogan nodded, silently urging him to get up. The Colonel knew the glass was soundproof as well as being a mirror on Kinch's side, but he couldn't help hoping that he might still be able to let Kinch know he was here, if only he'd look in his direction. Hogan pressed his hands against the glass. "Kinch!" he called. "Kinch!"

Kinchloe continued his slow movements, and eventually Hogan saw him pull himself into a sitting position and rub his face with his hands. Hogan studied the Sergeant as he stood up. Again, there didn't seem to be any physical marks on him, and compared to Carter and Le Beau, he actually seemed in better shape. But then, Kinch had always been a bigger man than either of those two smaller, slighter ones. For a moment, Kinch looked at the glass, and if Hogan didn't know better, he'd have sworn the man was staring straight at him. He couldn't help but try again. "Kinch!" he shouted, banging hard on the glass. "Kinch, _please_! It's Hogan!"

The tiniest frown passed over Kinch's face, and for a second Hogan was almost convinced that his voice had penetrated the glass. But the Sergeant just heaved a sigh and shook his head, turning away. Hogan clenched his fists in frustration. Then a twinge in his chest made him gasp and he leaned forward, pressing the heels of his hands against his breastbone, willing himself to breathe steadily, easily. _Damn that Oberholzer,_ he cursed to himself. Memories tortured his mind: _why can't I breathe?_

Eventually, Hogan felt in control enough to look up again, and when he did, he saw the scene before him had changed. Now Oberholzer was in the room with Kinch—and so was Carter. Hogan felt a mixture of relief and fear surge through him. His men were together—they knew they were not alone. There would be comfort drawn from that, and hope, Hogan knew. But he was worried, too: what would this psychopath do to them?

Hogan didn't need to be able to hear the men to understand what was going on. Oberholzer was holding a length of rope in his hands, and he gestured to Carter, clearly issuing some sort of orders. Carter shook his head and argued back, but Oberholzer would have none of it. His face turned scarlet with anger and Kinch stepped forward, and from the change in Oberholzer's expression Hogan could tell that the German was shouting, probably making threats.

Finally, Kinch looked at Carter and shook his head. Hogan could imagine the calm, cool tones of the radio operator as he faced his friend and spoke. He swallowed hard when he thought he could read Kinch's lips saying, "It's okay, Andrew," and something else he couldn't make out. _No, no, Kinch… no…_

He braced himself against the glass, willing himself to be able to break through as he watched Carter reluctantly take the rope from Oberholzer's hands and pull it out to its full length in front of him. Kinch took a final look at Oberholzer before turning his back on him, and then he knelt down on the floor. Hogan pressed his forehead against the glass, feeling the coolness on his hot, damp brow. "No, Kinch… no…" he whispered. He looked at Carter, absorbing the distress on the young man's face as he came up and stood squarely behind his friend. Kinch crossed his hands behind his back and bowed his head. Carter hesitated, then Oberholzer said something—harshly, Hogan thought—and the man who wouldn't hurt a fly if he could avoid it leaned down and draped the rope around his friend's neck and twisted it just once, directly behind his head.

Hogan could feel Carter's anguish as Oberholzer prodded him on to his next step. Still reluctant to do as he was ordered, it seemed to be words from Kinch that allowed Carter to move. His hands visibly shaking, Carter used the ends of the rope to tie Kinch's wrists together. Kinch was now trussed up, with just enough slack in the rope to breathe, but without enough freedom to move his arms without strangling himself.

Carter drew his hands tightly into himself, his expression heartbroken, his body shaking with emotion as he lowered his head in shame. "Oh, Carter…" Hogan breathed sympathetically. It would have been torturous for the young man to do anything that could harm his friend. "It's not your fault."

Oberholzer nodded at Carter, smiling, then looked at Kinch, who had not moved. In a sudden, swift movement, the German reached out and, bracing one foot against Kinch's back, yanked fast and hard on the rope. Kinch reacted immediately, his body jerking back toward his captor as he tried to get some slack on the rope so he could breathe. Carter immediately took a step forward as his friend gasped and writhed, but a reminder from Oberholzer's Luger froze him in place.

Hogan watched all of this in growing horror, frantic to do something to stop it, tortured knowing he could not. The ache in his chest swelled as he ticked off the seconds Kinch was going without air. Desperately, he hurled his fists against the glass, hoping, praying that it would make even a small noise, anything that would distract Oberholzer enough to let go of the rope. It didn't.

But as if he knew exactly where Hogan was on the other side of the glass, Oberholzer looked into the Colonel's face, and with a quirky smile that held Hogan spellbound, the Major let go of the rope, pushing Kinch forward in the process. Kinch fell to the floor, and he lay there panting for breath, sweating heavily, bound and unable to get himself up. Oberholzer didn't break his stare at Hogan, and Hogan, though he knew that it was impossible for the German to know where he stood, could not look away.

Oberholzer took one final look at Kinch, then gestured for Carter to leave the room with him. Hogan watched helplessly as Kinch's breathing was finally restored, and the Sergeant was left on the floor, trying to find a position that would allow him to rest somewhat comfortably without choking himself. Hogan vowed then and there that he would get his men away from here, if it was the last thing he ever did.

He heard the door unlocking behind him, and when he turned around, Oberholzer was standing there, smiling. "Satisfied?" he asked.

If not for the gun in his hand, Hogan would have punched the smug grin off Oberholzer's face. "You said you wouldn't do anything to them unless I was responsible for it," Hogan reminded the German angrily.

Oberholzer's eyebrows rose up in mock surprise. "But you _were_ responsible," he replied. "I told you that you were going to lose everything, _and you didn't believe me_. So I had to show you just how easily it could be done. You can lose your men, Hogan, in the blink of an eye. Don't ever believe I can't do it."

"You can stop showing off now, Oberholzer; I believe you," Hogan answered hoarsely. _I'll just have to work that much harder to stop you._


	16. Chapter 15, Persistence

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belongs to LJ Groundwater. Thanks.

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Klink yawned in the pre-dawn light, probably more tired than the prisoners assembled before him. "Report, Schultz," he said disinterestedly, as the big Sergeant of the Guard lumbered up to face him, also looking like he'd missed out on more than a couple of nights' sleep.

"_Herr_ Kommandant, all prisoners are present and accounted for," Schultz replied without enthusiasm.

Klink nodded and looked at the prisoners through half-lidded eyes. "Very good. Dismissed," he said with a wave of his hand. He buried his face in his coat and turned away.

Schultz told the prisoners to break up their formation and shuffled behind them as they headed back to their barracks. As it had been for every roll call in the last twenty-four hours—and there had been several—the men of Barracks Two found themselves waiting with burning humiliation until the Gestapo soldiers finished wrecking the hut before they could move in and clean it up. Schultz just shook his head, pleadingly, warningly, as the prisoners exchanged angry looks and muttered not-quite-under their breaths about just what they thought of this activity.

"Stupid Krauts," Riley spat as he unfolded the mattress on his cot once again. "What kind of idiots do they think we are? If we were hiding anything about Colonel Hogan, do they really think we'd leave it in _here_?"

"That's not why they're doing it," Foster said, tossing everything back into his footlocker. _No point in making it neat—it'll only come out again in a couple of hours._ "They're doing it to remind us that they can do anything they want. It's about humiliating us, not about finding anything."

"Well, they're doing a great job, then," Olsen answered. He stopped his furious neatening and sighed. "I sure miss Colonel Hogan and the fellas," he said wistfully.

The others in the room stopped their work. Though they had all felt the same way, with everything happening around them, they hadn't had a lot of time to think about it.

"I wonder where they are," Corporal Goldman said, shaking his head.

Foster admitted in a small voice, "I wonder if they're _alive_."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"I am not satisfied that we have exhausted our options yet," Hochstetter said to Burkhalter in Klink's office.

"Your 'expert' trackers have found nothing, Hochstetter. And you have not even found an escape route for Hogan and his men," the General admonished him. "For this kind of incompetence, I could have left the job with Klink."

Klink smiled nervously.

"The escape method no longer concerns me," Hochstetter said, trying to sound dismissive, even though it irked him beyond measure that he could not find out how Hogan had gotten out of camp. "Hogan could have slipped into the trunk of a leaving car."

"And all his men, as well?" Burkhalter persisted.

"No cars went out of camp the night Corporal Newkirk escaped," Klink reminded them cheerfully.

The General and the Major both frowned in response to the singsong voice.

"The other men are secondary; Hogan is the primary target," Hochstetter announced.

"I agree," Burkhalter said. "I also believe that you are wasting your time searching the barracks over and over again. By now there will be nothing to find there. Hogan could be half way to England by now, while you play Happy Homewrecker!"

Hochstetter paused. While he got some real satisfaction out of seeing Burkhalter squirm with obvious fear about his own future, he also felt that finding Hogan was a matter of pride for himself. How long had he been after Hogan, suspecting him of so much sabotage around Stalag 13? If Hochstetter had been wrong, and Hogan had merely been biding his time, waiting for a chance to escape, the Major would have to admit to having been a fool. But if he could find Hogan—perhaps catch him in some act of sabotage—then he would be exonerated, and declared not a fool, but a hero.

"Very well," he finally said. "I accept that continuing to search the camp now would not be the most prudent course to take. I will order the trackers to concentrate on the area outside the camp—and they will start to widen the net, since Hogan may have moved even further away than the immediate area." Hochstetter turned to Klink, his dark eyes piercing. "But you will continue the two-hourly roll call, Colonel Klink. This camp must remain on lockdown." He looked at Burkhalter. "Have you considered, General, that Hogan might try to come back?"

"Come back?" Burkhalter echoed.

"For his men. Hogan is very protective of them, is he not?"

"He _was_," Burkhalter said. "But I believe his escape proves that even Hogan could be self-centered."

"Do not be fooled by Hogan, General Burkhalter. He is not an ordinary man. If Colonel Hogan believed his men were in danger, he would come back to shield them from harm."

_Or he would leave camp to do the same,_ Klink suddenly thought. He didn't dare say it aloud. But how many times had Hogan come into this office after Carter, Le Beau, Kinchloe and Newkirk had disappeared and insisted that the men were in danger, and that everything possible needed to be done to get them back? _What if Hogan had escaped to find the men himself? What if he had been telling the truth?_

Burkhalter snapped, "What is wrong with you, Klink? You look like you have just swallowed poison."

Klink brought himself back into the room immediately and fumbled with his reply. Laughing anxiously, he said, "I—I was just—thinking about Major Hochstetter's idea, sir."

"And?"

"And?" Klink repeated. He swallowed. "And—and I think that he's right."

"About what, Klink?" Hochstetter asked, intrigued.

"I believe Hogan's men would be his first priority," is all Klink said.

Hochstetter's frowning mouth curved up slowly in a distasteful grin. "I'm so glad you agree," he said. He turned back to Burkhalter. "General, the Gestapo will continue to search the area. But I am going to keep a handful of men close to Stalag 13. When I put my next plan into effect, I am certain we will capture Hogan easily."

"What plan is that?" Klink couldn't help asking.

"Whatever it is, _do it_," Burkhalter ordered sharply before Hochstetter had a chance to reply. "I want Hogan found within the next twenty-four hours." He glared at Klink. "I don't think either of us will survive longer than that without fur lining in our coats—_if_ we are allowed to live!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

_Mmmm… Again._

Slowly, very slowly, Hogan drew one knee up and used his foot to push off his sore back and onto his side. He felt a familiar sting in his neck and, touching a hand to it, let out a feeble moan. Oberholzer had gotten him once again. Without opening his eyes, Hogan took note of his raspy breathing and cursed the German, realizing that as worried as he was about his men, he was even more terrified about the possibility that Oberholzer was killing him a little at a time, until the moment came where breathing became not only difficult, but impossible, and that fear that he had held as a child would come to fruition now, here, wherever he was, and he would die a painful, frightening death. _You lose again…._

_No,_ Hogan commanded himself. He wouldn't let Oberholzer win. He'd seen Kinch, Carter and Le Beau, and he was sure he'd heard Newkirk. He had to get them away from here. But so far, he hadn't been able to even let them know he was here with them, and Oberholzer had kept him so incapacitated that he hadn't even been able to figure out exactly where he was yet. If he _did_ finally reach his men, where would they go?

Hogan placed his hands squarely on the floor and pushed himself up, breathing heavily as perspiration beaded on his brow. _Get up. Just… get up._ He hated how weak he had become, how he had to force his body to do even the simplest things. But he wouldn't give up, and so when he had recovered, he continued step by agonizingly slow step until he was upright, even though he was leaning heavily on the wall to stop himself from collapsing. _I shouldn't be so tired,_ he thought wryly; _it seems like all I've done since I've been captured is sleep…._

He noticed with some relief that the headache that kept coming and going was gone at the moment, but he didn't bother to shrug his shoulders to move away some of the pain in them. Oberholzer had taken great pleasure in tying Hogan up again like a rodeo calf in reverse before he hand-fed the Colonel more of that sour-tasting pumpernickel, washed down with drops from a tiny cup of water that the Major held up to Hogan's face and tipped with a mother's gentleness toward his mouth. Knowing Hogan was unable to lift his head to drink without strangling himself, Oberholzer had cooed and sympathized condescendingly until Hogan wanted to throttle him, but he had done nothing to make it any easier. Desperate, Hogan had stuck his tongue into the cup and tried to lap water like a dog, which only left him wondering how animals managed to get anything out of those bowls they used. He was parched and humiliated and achy, and it was only then that he had gotten yet another dose of whatever it was Oberholzer was sticking in his neck, and after a time, the burning disgrace had receded into blackness.

_Try again. You paid attention… all you have to do is find them again…_

Trying to gather his strength, Hogan thought about his men. He wondered why they had always—_almost_ always, he amended—followed his orders without question, why they looked at him with eyes that told him they thought he somehow knew more about the war than they did, that he was keeping some big secret from them that made his actions beyond reproach, his ideas unquestionable. Would they be expecting him to have a grand plan right now to get them out of here? _No such luck,_ he told them now in his mind; _I'm just making it up as I go, just like everybody else._

_They trusted me with their lives,_ Hogan reminded himself

A voice echoed in his head: _Because I hate you…_

Hogan leaned back against the wall, fear surging desperately through him, his lungs struggling to fill. And he pictured his men yet again—this time tied up, blindfolded, suffering. _And I blew it._

But if there was even a small chance, he had to take it. He pushed himself upright, swaying slightly. "Not gonna… get them this time, either…" he panted aloud, willing himself to go on. He moved on weak, unsteady legs toward the door. "C'mon… fellas…" He put his hand on the doorknob and felt it turn easily in his grip. "Let's… get outta here."

Then he lurched out the door and into the unknown.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hochstetter pointed to Olsen. "You," he said. Goldman was next. "And you," He shot a final look of disdain at the others in the barracks before turning to leave. "I want them brought to the cooler immediately."

"_Jawohl, Herr Major,"_ Schultz replied immediately. He watched as Hochstetter swept out of the hut, confident that his orders would be obeyed. The guard's eyes held only regret as he looked at the pair that had been chosen. "You had better… come with me," he practically mumbled.

Olsen and Goldman looked at each other and then to the other prisoners. "It's okay, Schultz. We know you don't have any choice," Olsen said. He looked at Baker. "Keep in touch, right?"

Baker nodded, understanding the Sergeant's real meaning. "Will do," he answered tightly.

Klink suddenly appeared at the open door. "Get moving, Schultz," he ordered tersely. "You don't want to keep Major Hochstetter waiting."

"Yes, _Herr_ Kommandant," Schultz said. He waved the chosen pair away from their barrack-mates. "Let's go."

Goldman and Olsen pulled their coats in closer around them and headed out, leaving Schultz trailing behind them. Klink, instead of going with them, came further into the barracks and closed the door. "I need to talk to you," he said in a low voice, as though he didn't want to be overheard.

Baker frowned. "What about, Kommandant?"

Klink's eyes darted suspiciously around the room before he spoke. "It's about Colonel Hogan." His grip on his riding crop became even tighter as the words left his lips. Was he really doing what he thought he was doing?

Foster let out an exasperated breath. "Look, we already told Major Hochstetter everything we know—which is all of nothing," he declared.

"I _know_ what you told him," Klink said insistently. Then, much to the prisoners' surprise, he added, "I believe you—and I'm beginning to believe Hogan. What I need to know is—_why_ was he so sure the others were not trying to escape?"

Thomas shook his head. "Colonel Klink, it's like we said to the Major: when the Colonel promises something, he—"

But Klink cut him off. "I know all about Hogan's promises," he said. He sat down at the common room table, and the men unconsciously did the same, leaning in close as the Kommandant's voice got even softer. The decision to talk to the prisoners had not been an easy one, and even now he wasn't one hundred percent sure he'd made the right choice. But angry as he had been about Hogan's disappearance when it was first discovered, part of him had to admit that he had always been worried about the American Colonel's insistence that his men were not safe away from camp—and about the possibility that he might do something rash to find them. Hogan had threatened as much, and now, well…

"Colonel Hogan said that the escaped prisoners were in danger. He was most clear on that point. What sort of danger did he think they were in?"

Baker pursed his lips. "He was worried about the patrols in the woods, sir," he said.

Klink inhaled a tight breath. "There were no patrols in the woods when Le Beau and Carter left the work party," he said. "There were no patrols in the woods the night Sergeant Kinchloe escaped. There were no patrols in the woods when Corporal Newkirk disappeared. The patrols were sent out _after_ the men were already gone. And yet Colonel Hogan continued to insist that the men were in danger. Why?"

"We never know when patrols are going to be around," Scotty insisted. "That's one of the big reasons the Colonel always ordered us not to try."

"That's right," Thomas confirmed. "He didn't want anyone to get hurt."

"So he told me—over and over again," Klink said wryly. "But now Hogan is gone as well. Tell me," he said, looking from one man to the next: "would he have escaped to try and bring those men back?"

The men of Barracks Two looked at each other but didn't answer.

"I am asking you if Hogan would have gone out of camp with every intention of returning," Klink persisted, more strongly.

"He didn't want to leave, Kommandant," Baker finally replied softly. "It killed him that the others were gone. But he didn't want to leave us unprotected, either. He didn't want to escape."

"Then why did he get out? And _how_?"

The prisoners shook their heads. "We don't know, sir," Foster answered. "We're just scared about who might be next."

Klink thought of the two men who had been ordered from this barracks by Major Hochstetter, and of the prisoners that would come after them, according to the Gestapo officer's grand plan. Hogan's men were scared; the Kommandant was certain they were not pretending about that. There was much more to this than met the eye. "Major Hochstetter believes that if he starts to threaten the prisoners, Colonel Hogan will return to camp. I need to know if he is right."

Baker bowed his head and stared at a knot in the wood of the table top. "We wish he would, Kommandant," he said. "But the truth is we have no idea where Colonel Hogan is… and no idea if he's ever coming back."


	17. Chapter 16, It's All About the Men

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Bleary-eyed and dizzy, Hogan fell against the wall of the deserted hallway, sure his heavy breathing would be a dead giveaway to anyone within fifty feet of him. The ache in his lungs was almost paralyzing. He drew his arms up and braced them in front of his chest, bowing his head into them as he tried to get enough air to continue. His brain was screaming at him: _This is __**not**__ the place to stop!_ But he couldn't hurry himself along, not without being able to take in a few breaths, and so he just concentrated on the rise and fall of his chest beneath his arms, and vowed to continue as soon as he was able to move without plummeting to the ground.

_I'll get to you, fellas,_ he promised his men to himself; _I promise I won't give up._

Acutely aware of the passage of time, Hogan desperately sucked in as much air as he could and then launched himself back down the hall, his footsteps heavy and uneven. He reached almost blindly for the doorknob on the first door he came to, praying it opened so he could get out of sight, wondering if he was just walking into another trap set by Oberholzer.

No one was inside. He hadn't been caught, but neither had he found his men. Hogan doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees, trying to stop the room from spinning around him and pleading for his lungs to stop throbbing beneath his ribs. _This is bad,_ he told himself as he wheezed roughly, not that he needed any reminders. God, where were his men? And would they end up having to carry him out of here?

After a minute, Hogan worked his hands upwards until they were on his hips. He took a few more breaths and then decided his next move was obvious. There was no going back now; he had to keep going. Somewhere, his men were suffering. He had to find them.

_All these empty rooms,_ Hogan thought as he moved down the hall, looking for another open door, wondering why he thought they might not be locked up, momentarily fearful that Oberholzer might have drugged them in some way as he had Hogan, making locking them in unnecessary. He forced himself to consider the location. So far he had heard no one other than Oberholzer and his own men. He had seen very little furniture, and no signs that the rooms were usually inhabited by anyone. Wherever they were, it was an abandoned site. Which could mean that it had outlived its usefulness, or it had been bombed.

_Bombed._

Hogan's mind reeled as he suddenly realized where they might be, and his steps increased in their urgency, as though the knowledge had changed the situation. Ignoring the spikes impaling his chest, he tried the next door, then the next, then he turned a corner and found himself in yet another corridor with several doors, all of which he tried with no success. A single unlocked door led, as he suspected, to an empty room.

Discouraged and sick, he was about to try and work his way back the way he came, thinking he had perhaps started out in the wrong direction, when he heard a metallic tapping that seemed to come from somewhere nearby. Hogan paused and listened. Silence. Then, just as he thought it was not going to happen again, he heard it. _Dah-dah-dah. Dah-di-dah._

Hogan picked up the definite pattern and, completely forgetting the hurt in his chest and the fear in his heart, he translated.

_Dah-di-dah. Di-dit. Dah-dit. Dah-di-dah-dit. Di-di-di-dit. _Pause. Hogan nearly laughed with relief. _Kinch._ Someone was tapping out Morse code and had just mentioned Kinch! Oberholzer would certainly have no reason to discuss the radio man on a pipe in an abandoned building…. It had to be one of his own men!

His lungs already aching, Hogan held his breath and concentrated as best he could.

…_with… me. Le Beau… with… you?_

Hogan exhaled, nodding in satisfaction to himself when he heard a _yes_ tapped back. So they weren't all together—but they were in contact. At least they had discovered a way to hold onto their hope! He tried to figure out where the sounds were coming from, but paused when the tapping continued:

_Dah-dit dah-dah-dah, di-di-di-dit dah-dah-dah dah-dah-dit di-dah dah-dit._

_No Hogan._

The Colonel shook his head. His temporary relief dissolved as the next words took form: _Caught… or… dead._

_Fellas, I'm __**here**__…_ Hogan thought sadly. He moved along the hall again as the tapping continued, but he could not find the source of the sound. It wasn't coming from any of the rooms he was near; the sound was carrying from somewhere else. Above him? He looked up, wishing the ceiling would give him some answers. But it remained silent, and he continued down the hall, looking for anything that might let him get closer to his men, who he was certain weren't far from here, and whom he needed to get away from Oberholzer as quickly as possible.

He was rewarded finally with a large concrete staircase, and he paused when he got to the bottom of it, gripping the railing and trying to steady himself for the trip up the steps. He was light-headed, his chest hurt, and he wasn't sure he was going to make it. But he had to try, and so when he thought he'd gotten as much air as he was able to, he took his first step.

Almost immediately, Hogan had to stop to catch his breath. _This is gonna take all day,_ he predicted. His eyes traveled up the staircase. _About a dozen stairs… At one hour per stair, I should be there by lights out…. _He let his sarcasm propel him along and gamely took the next two steps. He felt as if his lungs were going to burst out from behind his ribcage, but he didn't stop. One more step. Two. Three. Four. An unconquerable wave of dizziness hit, and Hogan held the rail tightly, lowering his head down to his hands and closing his eyes. _Please, God. Please. Please. __**Please.**_ He lifted his head and pulled himself up the rest of the staircase, finally collapsing on the landing

There was still another flight of stairs to go before he made it to the next level. Hogan tried to imagine himself climbing them easily, but no matter how much he wanted to believe it, he knew it was a joke. It was so impossible to accept—only a few days ago he had been strong, fit, practically able to run the five-minute mile if he'd been forced to. Now, a simple flight of stairs was possibly all that stood between him and his men—and then their freedom. And it seemed as daunting as the ten-foot barbed wire fences that surrounded them at Stalag 13.

_Too much time is passing. Get moving. You can't stay here. _The sentences ran like mantras through his head even as he lay there panting and unable to get up. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling. He thought of Kinch and wondered if the radio man was in a similar condition, or if he had been lucky enough to avoid those terrible needles. And he worried that he had not seen Newkirk at all, even though he had been sure he heard his voice. What had he hoped to accomplish here? he finally asked himself. _Freedom,_ he reminded himself desperately. _**Freedom!**_

Still breathless, Hogan pulled himself to his knees, then grabbed the rail of the next staircase and forced himself to stand. The move made him sick to his stomach, and his head spun, but he hung on. "Freedom," he whispered. Then, thrusting one hand further up the railing, he resumed his exhausting journey.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Goldman and Olsen stumbled to their bunks as soon as they returned to Barracks Two, looking at least as worn out as they probably felt. Thomas and Scotty were ordered out of the hut by the accompanying guards, and with wary looks at their companions who had just come back, they silently obeyed.

As soon as the door closed, the remaining men of the barracks hurried to their returned comrades. "Olsen, are you all right?" asked Foster worriedly.

Olsen just rubbed his face and rolled away from his friend. "Yeah, yeah, I'm just… tired. Goldman's got a bigger mouth than me, anyway."

Baker had bustled over to Corporal Goldman's bunk, where the young man was almost balled up, his head tucked down to his chest. "Hey. Al. C'mon, pal, let's see what's going on with you."

A small grunt and a shake of his head as Goldman tried to get his friend to leave him alone. But Baker wouldn't have it. "Did they rough you up?" No answer. "Come on, Goldman, we want to help."

Finally, Goldman turned just his head toward Baker and said in a rough, weak voice, "They just… didn't… like me, I guess." He hissed a breath through his teeth and curled back into what Baker guessed was a sore stomach, or maybe something a bit worse.

Baker stood up and muttered, "I'll get the medic," then turned and looked at Foster, who had covered Olsen with a blanket before heading back to the table. "This is just gonna go on and on and on," he said.

Foster sighed. "Yup," he agreed reluctantly. "And we're all going to take a turn." He sat down heavily at the table and stared at the knotted wood. "Klink's not strong enough to stop the Gestapo."

"Yeah. We sure could use some of Colonel Hogan's magic right about now," Baker admitted wistfully.

Foster was silent for a minute. Then, he whispered, "Do you think he knows, Baker?"

Baker frowned and turned back from the barracks door. "Do I think _who_ knows?"

"Hogan," Foster answered. "Do you think he knows what's going on and he just isn't coming back?"

"_What?_" Baker gasped. A tiny thrill of alarm rippled up his spine.

"Do you think Hogan knows what's happening to us, but he's staying away from camp so Hochstetter doesn't get hold of him?"

"No," Baker replied resolutely. "No, I don't."

"So why isn't he coming back to help us, Baker? Why did he fret so much over Le Beau and Carter and Newkirk and Kinch… and leave _us_ here on our own?"

Baker let go of the door and came back to the common room table, bracing his hands on it as he leaned over the Corporal. "Because Hogan _didn't_ 'leave us,'" he said firmly. "He was worried sick over what had happened to the others, but he was just as worried about what could have happened to _you_ the night you and the others went out—the night Colonel Hogan himself disappeared. He didn't _want_ to go, Foster. You need to believe that." He stood up, unable to look at the man whose head was hanging so low Baker couldn't see his face. "Colonel Hogan was always about protecting the men _first_."

Foster suddenly stood up, his eyes flashing as he confronted the Sergeant. "Then why isn't he here _now_?" he insisted. "Why hasn't he come back like Klink said Hochstetter thinks he will?"

"Hey—" Baker took a step back but didn't back down. "You said yourself that Hogan was tracking you like a bird dog the whole time that last night, that no matter how hard he tried to hide it, you could tell he was watching you all like a hawk. That he wanted to be the last one in the tunnel so he'd be sure you and the others who went out would be safe."

"Maybe he did that as a last noble gesture before he took off for the others," Foster said.

"Are you crazy?" Baker asked. "After all this time, do you really think Hogan's capable of that?"

"_I don't know_ what he's capable of!" Foster burst. His body trembled as he continued. "All I know is that Olsen and Goldman have been knocked around by the Gestapo, Scotty and Thomas are with them now, and _you and I_ are probably next! Where's Colonel Hogan now? _Where is he?_ And why doesn't he stop this?"

Baker reached out for the shoulders of the increasingly agitated man and shook them hard. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Stop it, Foster!"

Foster's wild eyes finally focused on Baker and, trying to take in a deep breath, he stilled himself long enough to listen. "Hogan didn't want to disappear that night, Foster. _I_ know it, and _you_ know it. You _know _he'd be here if he could. Look, you're scared of facing the Gestapo. So am I. You'd be stupid not to be. But do you really think for a second that Colonel Hogan wouldn't be here looking after us if he had a choice?"

Foster said nothing for a few seconds, then he let out a breath and lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Baker. You're right. I'm really sorry," His anger deflated, he slowly sat back at the table. "I know Hogan's gotta be in some kind of trouble. But I'm just scared, you know? I'm really scared. I don't want to give anything away. I don't want to be responsible for anyone else getting beat up… or worse."

Baker came and sat down near his friend. "Think of it this way," he suggested quietly: "_we don't know anything_. Major Hochstetter's trying to find out where Colonel Hogan went, where Le Beau and Newkirk and the others went—and _we don't know_. You won't give anything away because you can't. _None_ of us can."

Another silence, this one longer, deeper. Finally the young man looked at Baker with eyes full of both determination and fear. "How long do you think it'll take Hochstetter to figure that out?" he asked.

Baker threw a glance back toward Goldman's bunk, then he stood up and headed back toward the door. "I'm hoping the next ten minutes," he said. "But I have a feeling I shouldn't be betting on that."


	18. Chapter 17, Interference

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belong to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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Robert Hogan was trying to will himself to move. The Morse code tapping had long since stopped, but he had come this far; he couldn't stop now. He opened his eyes, braced his hands against the wall, and pushed. There. Standing. _Whoop—_

Hand hit wall as he swayed and nearly lost his footing. He closed his eyes, commanding the world to stop spinning around him. When he opened them again, he left one hand against the wall as a precaution and continued down the deserted corridor. How long had he been away from the room he had woken up in? How long would it be before Oberholzer suddenly appeared, laughing and smiling in that infuriatingly quiet way, telling Hogan that everything was out of his control—again? How long before he abused one or more of Hogan's men, saying that Hogan himself was responsible?

"Forget it," he said breathlessly, as though the doubts had all come from an external source. "One step…" _at a time,_ he finished in his head. Speaking took too much energy; he needed to concentrate fully on getting where he was going… wherever that was. Breathing hard, he ran his hands over the first door he came to, blindly feeling for the door knob, registering somewhere inside his brain that he wasn't sure he'd be able to do anything even if he _did_ find his men now.

The door didn't give. Hogan pressed his hot, hot forehead up against it, closing his eyes one more time and accepting the almost physical plunge of his hopes into the pit of his stomach. _He's probably watching all this,_ Hogan couldn't help thinking. _He's probably laughing his head off._

_Laugh at __**this**__,_ he finally challenged. His hand still wrapped around the doorknob and shaking hard, Hogan, with effort, forced himself away from the door and stood upright. Rarely feeling weaker or sicker, he was sure he wouldn't make a very convincing picture of strength. But he wasn't going to stop here and let himself be defeated. _Not this time, Oberholzer…. Not this time._

He took a few of the best steadying breaths he could, let go of the knob and resumed staggering down the hall. Another door; nothing. A third door opened to his touch but was, as Hogan expected, empty. In the next room was a chair, and Hogan took the opportunity to fall into it. He used this rest time to consider what he was doing. He had heard a noise. He was sure, absolutely positive, that it was Morse code. But the tapping had stopped, and now he was just searching blindly, not sure what he might find behind any door that opened to him.

_But they're here somewhere,_ Hogan encouraged himself. _They're somewhere… and you've gotta keep looking!_ Reconciled to his decision, the Colonel got up and went back out of the room, heading even further down the long corridor, praying he didn't come to another set of stairs before he found what he was looking for.

Another locked door. And then a sound that was music to his ears. _Dit-dit-dah-dit dit-dit dah-dit dah-dit-dit, dit-dit-dit-dit dit-dit dah-dah. __Find… him…_

"_Yes,"_ Hogan breathed out, both triumphant and relieved. He caught his breath and then moved as quickly as he could toward the source of the noise—a closed door about twenty feet away from him. He put his hand on the knob as the tapping continued. _Please, God. Please…_

He continued praying as he shakingly began to turn the door knob, trying not to laugh out loud with joy when it responded to his touch. _Thankyouthankyouthankyou…._

He pushed the door open cautiously but with great anticipation, and when he was about to step inside the room, he stopped short, as he realized that all the effort he had made just to get to this point was suddenly for no reason at all.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"What is going on in there, Schultz?"

"I do not know, _Herr_ Kommandant. Major Hochstetter has ordered me away from the cooler while he is with the prisoners."

"That's ridiculous!" Klink burst. "There should be a guard there!"

"There _is_,_ Herr_ Kommandant. He has his _Gestapo_ guards there."

"Oh. Them." Klink dismissed the idea with a wave and headed around his desk to sit down. "You know, Schultz, I think Major Hochstetter has it all wrong," he admitted confidentially.

"Wrong, _Herr_ Kommandant?"

"Yes, Schultz. I think that if Colonel Hogan were planning to come back, he would have done so long before now."

"Do you really think so, sir?"

"Yes, I do. And another thing," the Colonel added: "I think he was very rude coming in and taking over my camp."

"But _Herr_ Kommandant, I thought _General Burkhalter_ had done that!"

"He has, he has," Klink agreed irritably. "And he wants Hochstetter involved, so I will have to go along with it," he said. "I'll admit, Schultz, that it is good for _one thing_."

"What is _that_, _Herr_ Kommandant?"

"The longer Hochstetter's investigation into Hogan's escape continues so actively… the longer I stay alive."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Major Oberholzer stopped moving the slim metal pipe long enough to favor Hogan with a welcoming smile. "Robert Hogan," he greeted with a satisfied—proud?—nod. "I have been waiting and waiting and waiting." The German stood up. "I was almost afraid you were going to let me down!"

Hogan's eyes remained locked on the pipe. "You mean it was… _you_… tapping… on those… pipes?" he asked crossly. Too winded to speak properly, he continued nonetheless. "The whole time?"

"That's right," Oberholzer said with a tiny wave of the pipe. "The whole time."

Hogan scowled.

Oberholzer looked disappointed at Hogan's reaction, then his eyebrows rose in mock sudden understanding. "You thought this tapping was coming from your men!" he exclaimed.

Hogan's frown got deeper. Oberholzer wasn't fooling anyone. He knew that was _exactly _what Hogan would have been thinking.

But Oberholzer was shaking his head sorrowfully. "Oh, that's such a shame, Hogan. But you had to know that I wouldn't allow you to reach them on your own."

Hogan struggled for breath, but he had to answer. "In other words, you did… you did this just… for your… own amusement."

Oberholzer shrugged. "I warned you not to try anything, Hogan. This was just a test to see if you would listen to me." His eyes hardened. "You didn't."

Ice raced through Hogan's veins. _God, please… don't use this as an excuse to punish my men. _He said nothing.

Oberholzer saw the look that washed over Hogan's face and smiled. "No matter," he said brightly. Hogan remained tense. "This time, Hogan, I _will_ give you what you want."

Oberholzer came up beside Hogan, who was feeling lightheaded and off-balance standing so stiffly and for so long without being able to take a full breath. His shoulders ached distractingly, and a dull, thumping headache had returned. Still, Hogan said nothing. He didn't want to take the chance.

"Come along, Hogan," Oberholzer prompted, passing the American to open the door behind him.

Hogan didn't move. "Where are we going?"

"I'm going to take you to your men."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The collective gasp from Hogan's men as the Colonel was escorted into the large, barren room almost overwhelmed him. Though he had been made aware of their captivity, it was clear that they had not known of his. Hogan looked from one to the next, counting silently—Kinch, Le Beau, Carter, _Newkirk_. Yes, all of them were here. _All of them were alive!_

Hogan's eyes shot toward Oberholzer when the German interrupted his thoughts. "You see, Hogan?" Oberholzer said with a smile. "You didn't have to go through all that trouble on your own. Your men were here all the time."

Hogan dropped his eyes, trying hard to rein in the anger he felt at the humiliation and suffering he'd been put through, and trying to make sure he gave nothing away to his captor. He could feel his body weakening; the journey here had been long and very difficult. "I can… see that," he retorted softly.

"Oh! And here I am, standing in the way of your reunion," Oberholzer said.

Being pushed to his limit, Hogan once again considered punching the German in the mouth for his sarcastic remorsefulness. But he knew he had no strength to carry through, so he didn't try.

Oberholzer ignored the glaring look from the Colonel. "Please, don't let me intrude any longer. I'm sure you and your men have much to talk about. I'll leave you alone for now, yes? I will be back in due course."

Neither Hogan nor his men moved as Oberholzer headed for the door. The Major opened it, took one last look back at the scene he had orchestrated, then with a satisfied, almost contented, sigh, left and closed the door behind him. Hogan and his men were alone.

For just a second, no one moved or spoke. Then Hogan's men all started talking at once. Hogan didn't join in, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of exhaustion. _Not now… __**not**__ now,_ he pleaded, as his head started spinning again. He pressed a hand to his stomach to control the renewed nausea rising within him, and he felt a chill run through him that washed away all his strength. Without warning, his eyes slammed shut, and Hogan felt himself floating—

"It's all right, Colonel; I've got you."

Hogan's eyes shot open and he tensed his sagging body as he felt hands upon him. Belatedly, he realized who was speaking and surrendered to his exhaustion. "Kinch…"

The Sergeant supported Hogan's limp weight and guided him toward one of the two hard chairs in the room. He spoke as Hogan bowed his head toward his knees and braced his forearms on his thighs. "It's all right, Colonel. Take it easy. You're with us now; it's okay."

Hogan pried open his eyes, but he had double vision and his eyelids were still so heavy. He closed them again, frustrated. "You fellas…" he whispered breathlessly, "… all right?"

"_Oui, Colonel_," answered Le Beau. Hogan wanted desperately to lay his eyes on the little Frenchman again. He couldn't. "We are all fine. How long have you been here?"

"Dunno," Hogan admitted. He paused to catch his breath. "By the time I… got taken… Newkirk'd been… missing for two… days."

"So about… three or four days," Carter informed him. "I've been keeping count as best I can since Le Beau and I got here."

"S-sorry about my disappearance, sir," Newkirk said from not far away. Hogan was so pleased to hear his voice, but he did not have the strength to acknowledge the Corporal. "I was right behind you that night—but someone else was right behind _me_." He snorted, agitated. "With chloroform."

"What's Oberholzer done to _you_, Colonel?" Kinch asked softly from beside Hogan. "You aren't looking so great."

Hogan gritted his teeth against the pounding in his chest, then struggled to sit up straight to see his men. He failed, but he could open his eyes, at least for a little while. "He's been giving me… some sort of… injection," he panted. The pain in his chest drew his head back down. "Makes it… hard to… breathe." He closed his eyes tightly. _Damn._

He missed the concerned looks exchanged by his men. "What do you think he wants, Colonel?" asked Carter. "He hasn't told us anything."

_He's told me plenty,_ Hogan answered to himself. Aloud, he could only speak in short bursts. "Revenge," he gasped, almost under his breath. _Because I hate you…._ "He says… we took his life."

"Then why didn't he just kill us, then?" Newkirk asked, angry, and worried about his commanding officer. "Why drag us all away one by one and leave us here?"

Kinch looked down at Hogan still struggling to breathe. He knew the answer to Newkirk's question. Though Hogan had never confided in him—or in _anyone_—exactly what Oberholzer had said or done to him when he had hauled Hogan away for questioning back at Stalag 13, Kinch had managed to piece together enough from the rare unguarded moments of the American officer to make an educated guess: Major Oberholzer had figured out that above all, Hogan's heart was with his men, and if he compromised Hogan's men enough, eventually the Colonel would commit some desperate, hopeless act to try and save them. Then Oberholzer would have Hogan exactly where he wanted him—so he could destroy him completely.

"Just let him be for now, Newkirk," Kinch suggested gently.

Newkirk screwed up his face but nodded agreement.

"You've gotta… get out," Hogan panted. "He's not… gonna let you… go as long… as I'm alive."

"We'll _all_ get out, Colonel," Kinch corrected. "We'll find a way."

Hogan ignored the amendment. "You see… any way… out?" he asked.

"No, sir," Carter said. "_I_ never did."

"He's right, _Colonel_. We have been moved around a bit, but I have not seen any exits," Le Beau added.

"Where—?" Hogan choked out a breath as his lungs were suddenly squeezed tighter than ever before. His hands knotted into fists, his teeth and eyes clenched shut, and his erratic gasps for air did nothing to ease the invisible grip on his chest.

When he'd recovered enough, Hogan wiped his watering eyes and raised his head to see his men in a close circle around him. Even in the midst of this mess, this impossible predicament, he found comfort in their presence. And now, he wanted to find comfort in their escape. Still catching his breath, he focused on Le Beau's shoes in front of him when he whispered, "Where… are we?"

"The old plant in Hammelburg Oberholzer brought you and Carter to last year," Newkirk replied. "Looks like he got it all rigged up just for us."

"_Oui._ Unluckily for him, Newkirk woke up before they got into the building just in time for him to see it," Le Beau added. "Or should I say, unluckily for his jaw."

Newkirk shrugged. "Me Nan always said I was feisty," he explained with a not remotely guilty grin.

Despite his illness, Hogan's mind was working hard. _Hammelburg… The Underground… How could we alert them…?_ "I climbed… stairs… but then… I was brought back… down…. No windows… anywhere… I think… exit is… up," Hogan managed.

"I think you're right, sir," Newkirk confirmed. "I've just been too busy to look yet."

Hogan raised his head long enough to favor the Englishman with a weary smile.

"We've been locked in, Colonel," Kinch said. "Usually we were kept separated, or in twos."

Hogan nodded tiredly. He knew.

"Have you seen anyone else?" Newkirk asked.

Fading quickly, Hogan shook his head and tried hard to breathe easily. He couldn't.

"But that fella's made a big mistake _now_, boy," Carter declared. "Now that we're together, we can do anything!"

_That's the spirit, Carter,_ Hogan wished he could say out loud. Instead, he forced the smile to remain on his face and met the Sergeant's enthusiastic eyes with his own. "We'd better get moving," he finally said in a voice so soft that his men instinctively moved in closer to hear him. "Door's… not locked…."

"I'll go out scouting, Colonel," Carter volunteered immediately. "I bet I can find a way out of here."

"Are you kidding? That _Boche_ pig is probably right outside the door, listening," Le Beau protested.

"Or worse still, waiting down the corridor to see how far we get before he pounces on us again," Newkirk added.

Hogan's eyes had closed during his men's banter and his mind was rapidly shutting down. It had taken so long to get here, and now, as much as he wanted to escape, the desire to let go was overwhelming. He missed whatever was said next; he didn't even rouse when frantic hands flew out to stop him from plunging face first to the floor.


	19. Chapter 18, Move It Or Lose It

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belong to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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"Hochstetter, I want to talk to you."

The Gestapo Major stopped short in his tracks, not bothering to disguise the look of irritation that immediately took over his face when he was called in the middle of the yard. "Keep going. I will meet you there," he tersely ordered the guards who had been accompanying him—as well as Foster and Monroe—to the cooler. He turned to face his interrupter and saluted. "General Burkhalter. What can I do for you?"

"Hochstetter, the running of this camp has been disrupted long enough," Burkhalter said pointedly. "You are obviously not getting anywhere with this so-called trap for Hogan. If he was going to come back to Stalag 13, by now he would have done so. Colonel Klink is right: Hogan will not be returning. I want you to stop this practice immediately."

Hochstetter's shoulders rose up with his temper. "Begging the General's pardon, but I think I certainly know Hogan better than _Kommandant Klink_," he said.

"Really?" Burkhalter replied, piqued. "Then where is he? Why has he not come back to rescue his men as you said he would—_twenty-four hours ago_?"

But Hochstetter held his tongue. "Word has not reached him yet, _Herr_ General. That I am sure of."

"Just as you were sure that you would find incriminating evidence in his barracks. Just as you were sure that he would come running back here the second you laid a hand on any one of his men. Just as you were sure he would have been caught by now—if _you_ had been here!" Burkhalter shook his head angrily. "Your time is over, Hochstetter. You will release the prisoners you have just sent to the cooler. And _I_ will make my report to Berlin." Burkhalter grimaced. "I don't mind telling you that I wished you had been right—for more reasons than your own ego." He fisted his hands. "I am not looking forward to explaining not only Klink's failure and your failure, but my _own_ in this matter."

"I have not failed, General Burkhalter. My plan has not had enough time to bear its fruits!"

"It is already _overripe_!" Burkhalter countered. "Cancel whatever plans you had for those men you were leading to the cooler. If you insist on staying in the area, you will concentrate on searching for Hogan outside of camp _yourself_, instead of hoping that he will magically show up, begging for you to capture him."

Hochstetter was seething quietly, but ever more violently from within. Through gritted teeth he acquiesced. "As you say, General Burkhalter. But I assure you that you will regret this order."

"No more than I already regret the decision to get you involved. A fast death is preferable to a slow one—and when that happens I do not want _your face_ to be the last one I see."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan opened his eyes, more out of habit than a real desire to see anything. He felt strangely devoid of emotion or motivation, and though he had never seen this place before, he didn't even raise an eyebrow in curiosity, choosing to let his eyes focus dully on the opposite wall—or, more likely, simply accepting that he didn't have the presence of mind to wonder where he had been taken, or what had happened to his men. He breathed in and out calmly, vaguely noticing that some of the sting in his chest was gone, but dismissing that small comfort as he knew it probably wouldn't last.

Eventually, Hogan's mind wandered to a place that forced him to consider, at least briefly, his situation. He remembered Carter's belief that being reunited made them invincible, and ruefully, he retorted to himself that the Sergeant's resolution only counted if he could stay awake long enough to try and _keep_ them united. Right now, he didn't even know where his men _were_, much less if they were together, albeit without him.

He sat up from his slumped-over position against the wall and rubbed his face to try and wake up. His body, stiff from another period of non-movement, protested sharply. Tendrils of pain reached out from his skull to his neck to his shoulders and into his chest. He purposely ignored them and tried hard to concentrate. _Come on; it's time to think. What do you know? _He pursed his lips grimly. _Oberholzer brought us all to that shell of a factory we told London to bomb the __**first**__ time he showed up._ _What does __**that**__ tell me? _

_That he's a __**nutcase**__,_ Hogan decided immediately. He shook his head, annoyed, then brought a hand up to where so many of those dreaded needles had found their mark. _But then, we already knew that,_ he added. Doing his best to suppress his discomfort, he pushed himself to a standing position and waited for the now-familiar dizziness to subside before he made another move.

_That's it,_ he announced angrily to himself; _I've had enough of this place. It's time to force Oberholzer's hand and get the hell out of here._

Then, taking as deep a breath as he could manage, Hogan steadied his cap on his head, made his way to the door, and once again went out in search of his men.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

His face fixed in a permanent scowl, Hochstetter was issuing orders to his men. "_You_ will take six men and start spreading out from the camp. I want you to continue heading toward Hammelburg and see if you can find anything that will lead us to Colonel Hogan."

"_Jawohl, Herr Major."_

"You two will go back to Gestapo Headquarters and pull the files of all known or suspected Underground groups in the area. Then you will take reinforcements and check them all out to make sure Hogan is not hiding with them until he thinks we have given up the hunt."

"_Ja, Herr Major."_

"The rest of you will come with me." As his men hurried to obey their orders, Hochstetter looked back to Klink's office, where he knew General Burkhalter was holed up, still worrying like a child about what was going to happen if Hogan wasn't found, instead of worrying about the fact that he had just stupidly halted the only chance that he had of bringing Hogan to justice and saving his fat stars from freezing off at the Russian front.

"Luckily for you, I don't give up so easily," Hochstetter muttered under his breath, wishing with all his might that he could say this to his superior officer's face. "Because unlike you, General Burkhalter, I am absolutely certain that Hogan would not abandon this camp and these men. And so I will not rest until he is found—dead, or alive."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Where are you… Oberholzer? Come on out!"

Hogan called out in the hallway as best he could as he stumbled along, hoping to attract the attention of the German and get him angry enough to make a mistake, so Hogan and his men could end this intolerable imprisonment, one way or the other.

"Come on…" Hogan banged on each door open-handed as he reached it, not even sure if he was on the same floor as he had been when he lost consciousness, and if he was, if his men had been moved. "_Come on!_ _Where are you?_"

But there was no response from anyone, so Hogan tried to retrace his steps. _I think the exit is __**up**__,_ he remembered thinking. He wondered if that were still true. Stopping to catch his breath, he brushed his forearm under his nose and across his forehead, not registering that more cold perspiration immediately erupted there again. He looked toward a staircase at the end of the corridor, wishing he could remember something about it, but knowing that it looked just the same as all the others. _Up,_ he told himself again, and then he headed for the steps that at the moment were as daunting as a mountain.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Klink, I hate to admit this, but I believe that Hogan will not be coming back."

Klink nodded without looking at General Burkhalter, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes, his elbows braced on the desk before him. "I agree with you," he answered, finally drawing down his hands. "I've believed that since Major Hochstetter got here."

"Hochstetter," repeated Burkhalter, making the word sound more like a swear word than a name. "That man has been a complete waste of time. I regret involving him in the matter at all." He shook his head and headed for Klink's brandy. "He is as useless as a one-armed juggler—and not as amusing!"

"_I_ never saw anything funny about him," Klink mumbled as the General continued his tirade.

"I had Hogan sent to this camp because I thought it would keep him in his place; his primary concern when he was captured, even higher than staying alive, was to protect his men. He would not reveal any information about his unit or their mission, even when put through our most rigorous interrogation." Burkhalter poured a large measure of the brandy and immediately took a long drink. Then he seemed to consider topping up his drink, but, deciding against it, put the decanter back on the counter and walked away with his glass. "He seemed to be complying nicely. But now I see it was just a ruse to make us lower our own defenses—and as soon as he thought it was safe to try it, he was gone."

Burkhalter turned to Klink, who had been sitting at his desk, shaking his head in numb disbelief. "To your credit, Klink, it took a year for him to think it was safe under your command."

Klink's shaking head started nodding. "That's right," he said, with some animation. "A year!"

Burkhalter's rebuke was sharp and immediate. "But it was still too soon! Hogan should _never_ have thought it was safe!"

_He'd have thought it was safe a lot sooner in __**any other**__ camp,_ Klink retorted to himself. He bit his lip to stop from replying to Burkhalter's rapidly swinging mood. _Hogan, when I am standing in front of that firing squad I am going to curse your soul to Hell…._

"No, sir, he should never have thought it was safe," Klink said instead.

"Now I must make my final report to _Reichmarschall_ Göring. And I don't think a plea for clemency is going to fall lightly on his ears." Burkhalter tossed the rest of the brandy down his throat and slammed the glass down on Klink's desk. "Leave me now, Klink," he said. "I will face this humiliation without an audience. You should spend your time packing… and making peace with your Maker."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

At last, one of the doors on which Hogan pounded his fists was unlocked, and he nearly fell into the room, gripping the door like a long lost lover come home in order to remain upright. The sound of his painful breathing was frightening, and loud in his ears, and the ambitious determination with which he had started this endeavor had worn thin about ten doors and two staircases ago. When he could raise his heavy head from his chest, he ignored the stinging in his sore eyes and tried to focus on the room, fully expecting to see Oberholzer sitting comfortably, smiling and nodding, and just waiting to drive Hogan insane.

What he found stunned him. Instead of a mocking, self-satisfied German, Hogan found himself looking at four bound and gagged men.

_His_ men.

At first, Hogan could only stare dumbly, waiting for his exhausted mind to process the meaning of the images he was facing. Then, one thought led to another and he staggered away from the door, and toward the closest of the foursome, who were looking back at him, equally dumbfounded.

"Carter," Hogan gasped as he knelt beside the Sergeant and with a trembling hand pulled the gag out of the man's mouth. "Y'aw… You all… right?" Barely able to keep his head up or his eyes open, Hogan nonetheless started working on the ropes binding the Sergeant's hands behind his back.

Carter worked his jaw for a few seconds before he answered. "Sure, I'm okay, Colonel," he said, trying not to let his eyes betray the fear in his heart as he realized just how ill his commanding officer was. He wiggled in the ropes, trying to loosen them more quickly. "It's just rope."

Not even looking back at Carter, Hogan nodded mechanically and kept pulling at the ropes. Carter finally managed to get free, and without wasting a second to massage his wrists, he moved over toward Newkirk, who was sitting a few feet away from him, and pulled the gag out of his mouth. Still upright on his knees, Hogan headed for Le Beau, but Carter, seeing how unsteady and white he was, said hastily, "I'll get them, Colonel Hogan. You just sit for a minute. You look like you've run a marathon."

Hogan didn't argue. He threw Le Beau a somewhat apologetic look, then sat down on the floor, propped his arms on his raised knees and rested his head on them. He listened as Carter removed Kinch's and Le Beau's gags, and wanted to but was not able to look up as they finished untying each other.

By the time he felt a hand on his shoulder, his eyes were closed. "Colonel Hogan. Colonel. Are you all right, gov'nor?"

_Sure, don't I look all right?_ Hogan thought automatically. But words wouldn't come to voice the tired sarcasm. He merely lifted his head long enough to meet Newkirk's eye and continued panting for breath.

It was enough of an answer for the Englishman. "We've gotta get out of here, fellas," he said. "We've gotta get the Colonel some help."

Kinch came up beside Newkirk and looked down at Hogan. "You said it." _You look so sick, sir. Lord, please don't let us get away too late._ "And we'd better work fast."

"Don't worry about me." The words sounded so much stronger and more persuasive in Hogan's head than they did when they left his mouth in a breathless gasp. Squeezing his hands into fists as his chest tightened, he announced through gritted teeth, "Oberholzer… We need a… plan."

"I don't know if we have time for one," Kinch admitted. "Every step you've taken so far… Oberholzer's been there."

"So what do we do? Just stand here and wait for him to catch us again?" Newkirk asked, frustrated.

"Newkirk's right. He can't stop all of us," Carter agreed.

Still curled into himself, Hogan couldn't help asking, "How did he… get you all tied up?"

"We were pretty sure we could overpower him," Kinch confirmed with a nod. Then he glanced at the others as he continued hesitantly. "But he had taken you away from us… and we weren't gonna take any chances that he'd take our disobedience out on you if we didn't succeed."

_Because of me…_ Hogan shook his head, distressed. Four against one; surely they could have done it. They'd succeeded in tougher tasks before. But they hadn't tried it. "You never… sacrifice…" he panted.

"We know, sir: 'the many for the one,'" Le Beau quoted Hogan, having known what the Colonel's reaction would be. "But we are not many. Together, we are one. We could not leave you behind, just as you cannot leave your own arm or leg behind."

Too tired to argue, and touched by his men's loyalty, Hogan nodded once and let Newkirk and Carter pull him up off the floor.

"Let's go, sir," Newkirk suggested, as Hogan tried to regain his equilibrium. "I believe you said you thought the exit was _up_."

Hogan offered an exhausted smile to Newkirk as the Corporal supported him on one side. "I don't like my odds lately," he managed to whisper. "I'd rather go with _your_ idea this time around."

"My idea?" Newkirk glanced at Carter, who was still on Hogan's other side, then briefly at the others. "My idea is that your idea is just fine, sir. _Up_ it is."

"You fellas are crazy," Hogan said softly as they headed for the door, with Le Beau in the lead as look-out. Lowering his head tiredly, he added, "I love that."


	20. Chapter 19, Heading for the Door

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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"Look what I have found!" Le Beau exclaimed in a loud whisper, practically jumping up and down with excitement. "I knew there had to be _something_ useful left in this old wreck of a building!"

Newkirk smiled as the Frenchman waved the Luger in front of him. "That's very pretty, Le Beau. Now give us the bad news: it's not loaded."

"_Non_, _Monsieur_ Joker. It is fully loaded and appears to be just fine."

"Great job, Louis," Kinch approved with a nod. "Where'd you find it?"

"In a desk drawer in one of the old demolished offices. I went in there looking for a window or a way out—but I could not help doing a little snooping while I was there."

Newkirk grinned. "Looks like I'm rubbing off on you, mate," he declared.

Le Beau shot the Englishman a playfully derisive look. "Please, no insults. I thought this was a _good_ thing."

"It _is_," Kinch affirmed, pleased that at least one thing had worked in their favor. "No insults intended." He looked at Hogan, who was still so unsteady, and at Carter, who was trying to keep the Colonel upright and awake. "That'll help even up the playing field." Hogan's head bobbed once, but Kinch couldn't tell whether it was in agreement or simply in exhaustion. _All we need is another six of those before I even __**begin**__ to think that Oberholzer doesn't have the upper hand…._ "Let's get going. Before that Kraut changes the odds again."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Major Hochstetter stood staring intently at what was once a railway station, at least until two days ago, when it had suddenly and inexplicably blown up. Sabotage? Of course, he knew. But with very little of the pizzazz and expertise that usually accompanied any acts of destruction in this area. Traced back to the source of the explosion, the incendiaries were almost crude, handmade. Certainly they had done their job… but it would have taken twice as much work to get half the result of the other partisan activities that had taken place in this area in the past. _Before Colonel Hogan disappeared…_

He walked around the perimeter of the rubble, deep in thought. Hochstetter was sure the men whom he had taken with him from Stalag 13 would have similar reports from the other sites he had sent them to examine. The differences between the work done on this station, and the work done at places like the power plant a couple of miles on the _other_ side of Stalag 13 a couple of months ago would be significant. The professionalism would be admirable at the destroyed power plant, no matter how unconscionable the act itself was. Only one man Hochstetter knew of in this area was capable of being so organized.

And he wouldn't rest until he found him.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan felt like his lungs were going to explode through his chest, but he kept putting one foot in front of another. It was only when he stumbled over his own feet and couldn't regain his balance that his men admitted they were probably pushing him too far.

"Whoop—'old on there, then, gov'nor," Newkirk said as he made a grab for the Colonel to stop him from hitting the floor. Hogan held on tight to Newkirk's arm, waiting for everything around him to stop spinning. The Englishman turned to the others. "We've gotta stop a minute, mates," he said as he led Hogan toward the wall. Hogan immediately sank to the floor and, doing his best not to groan aloud, he tried to will the terrible pain in his chest to recede. "This is just too much for him."

_Never mind me; I'm holding you up. Just __**go**__. _Hogan wished he could say the words out loud, but speech was beyond him at the moment. He loosely waved a hand toward them, indicating for them to continue.

Kinch understood at once. "No, sir. Not without you."

Hogan tilted his head back toward the ceiling, gulping in air in desperate swallows. "Go," he finally whispered, unable to bring his eyes into focus on his men. "You're so… close. Go. Go."

"That's right, Colonel: we're so close. So there's no reason we can't all go together," Kinch insisted.

"It's crazy," Hogan breathed, curling into himself and pressing hard on his breastbone.

"That's right, sir," Newkirk agreed cheerfully. "We're a rather insane lot."

"You said you like that about us," Carter reminded him.

"_Oui. _And we would hate to disappoint you by changing _now_," Le Beau added.

Hogan took in a couple more breaths. Then he nodded. "Heaven forbid," he said softly. His men smiled. "Come on—help me up."

Carter took Hogan's outstretched hand and pulled him to his feet. He didn't let go even when Hogan nodded that he was all right on his own, and this time Hogan didn't protest. _Thanks, Carter,_ the Colonel thought. He had a lot to thank his men for this time around, he knew. He only wished he was well enough to do it out loud. Later, when this was all over… _Later,_ _if he recovered…_

He nodded his readiness at the others, and they continued, more slowly, toward what they hoped was an exit from this nightmare.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Colonel Klink has officially been removed from command of Stalag 13."

General Burkhalter's announcement at the next roll call stunned the prisoners of Barracks Two. "You will have a new Kommandant tomorrow. In the meantime you will be under my authority. I expect that you will behave as you are ordered to."

The bitterness in the General's voice wasn't lost on the prisoners. It was clear that the trouble wasn't only Klink's.

"Anyone even one second late for roll call will be punished. Anyone who is not turned out in regulation uniform, or in proper formation, will be punished. Anyone who is caught with lights on after lights out in the barracks will be punished. Anyone caught _out_ of the barracks after lights out… will be shot." The last pronouncement, though not unheard of, had an unusual intensity in it that hung in the air. Without a doubt, Burkhalter was at his final breaking point. "You understand what I am saying. Do not test these regulations. You will fail."

Then, turning his back abruptly on the prisoners, he marched back to the _Kommandantur_.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"_Herr_ Kommandant, what will happen to you?" Schultz asked as he watched Klink puttering aimlessly around his office, opening a drawer here, closing a filing cabinet there. Straightening papers and moving pencils around without any real purpose.

At this question, Klink froze with the papers from his desk still tightly in his grasp. He straightened, raised his chin, and, his voice as detached as he could make it, he answered, "That is not up to me, Sergeant. What happens to me and to General Burkhalter will be decided by my superiors."

"But _General Burkhalter_ is your superior," Schultz reminded him.

"Yes, Schultz," Klink agreed with a nod. "And as my superior, my failure reflects on him." His shoulders sagged just a bit. "Just as your failures reflect on me."

"_My_ failures, Kommandant?"

Klink waved his hand dismissively and came out from behind his desk, heading once again toward the bookshelf that needed no neatening, but which was going to be rearranged anyway, Schultz knew. "Oh, Schultz, not your failures. You have no failures. Well, none that would get you sent to the Russian Front—or shot as a traitor." He shook his head. "Just incompetence." He moved a couple of books, then put them back the way they had been just minutes before. "And if that is your crime, it reflects justifiably on me," he said with a sigh. He looked at his handiwork and, dissatisfied with the results, came back around the desk. "I should have kept Colonel Hogan here, Schultz. It's as simple as that. With that task I was entrusted, and in that task I failed. It is I who is incompetent, Schultz."

"Oh, _no_, _Herr_ Kommandant," said Schultz, as his eyes followed Klink around the office. "You are an _officer_. You are supposed to do everything better than a Sergeant."

"Fine; so I'm a _better incompetent_. That's very comforting."

"No—_no_, _Herr_ Kommandant! I only meant—"

"Never mind, Schultz. I know what you meant." Klink stopped arguing for argument's sake and shook his head. "You know, Schultz, if the war had ended the day _before_ Colonel Hogan decided to escape, everything would have been fine. You and I would have been headed out of this camp and moved on to other assignments."

"Not me, Kommandant. I would have gone back to my factory."

"Yes, yes, you would have left the military—who knows, maybe I would, too? But I will not have a choice now, thanks to Hogan."

"_Herr _Kommandant, if I may say so…"

Klink frowned at Schultz's hesitancy. "What is it, Schultz?"

Schultz moved in closer to Klink and knitted his brow. "_Herr_ Kommandant, I do not think that Colonel Hogan wanted to leave Stalag 13."

Klink nodded once but didn't say anything.

"He was very, very upset when his men did not come back from the work party," the Sergeant continued. "And he was so _sad_ when Sergeant Kinchloe disappeared."

Klink heaved a sigh.

"And when Corporal Newkirk was discovered missing as well, Colonel Hogan was so _unhappy_."

Finally, Klink let out a snort. "Yes, perhaps because he was left for last," he said sarcastically. Schultz straightened, surprised, as Klink moved away. "Oh, yes, I know what you are saying, Schultz. And I did not believe it at first. Then I spoke to his remaining men, and they are certain that Hogan did not intend to escape from camp. But once a man is free, Schultz… For a man like Hogan—and yes, I do believe I know a bit about how Hogan thinks: he was a man of action, Schultz; a pilot; a commander. Being in a prison camp, no matter how easily he appeared to settle in—it would have been Hell for him. And when he finally had enough… he was gone."

"But _Herr_ Kommandant—his _men_."

"Yes, Schultz. His men." Klink bobbed his head. "But even a man like Hogan can have his head turned by a chance at _real freedom_. I'm sorry, Schultz, but I think in a month, maybe even less—that Hogan will be up in those skies in his plane again and bombing the life out of Germany."

_And strangely, I wish him the best…._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

_What I wouldn't give to be lying on that crummy, thin mattress back in camp right now,_ Hogan thought fleetingly. He drew in a breath as he dropped his foot onto one more stair, his hand sliding uselessly down the rail. He felt Kinch's strong arm wrapped around him, under his own arms, supporting him. His head drooped, and he could feel his skin turning cold, even though inside he felt so very hot. _Maybe just a ten-minute nap,_ he bargained with himself. Another stair. _After we get back to Stalag 13._

As though reading his thoughts, Kinch suggested softly, "Colonel, why don't you let me carry you?"

Hogan shook his head. "I can… do this."

"With all due respect, sir, I think you've got an inflated sense of your abilities right now."

"I… can… _do this_." Hogan lifted his head and tried to focus on the top of the staircase, instead of on his leaden feet which were having so much trouble getting him where he needed to be. Every step was heavier than the one before, every breath more of a struggle. _C'mon, __**hurry**__… One more step… Don't slow them down…._

Kinch tightened his hold on the Colonel just slightly, indicating without a word that he understood his commanding officer's precarious condition—and the reason behind his stubbornness—and would do all he could to help. "We're nearly there," he said encouragingly. "Just a few more steps. We must be getting close now."

At last, they were on the landing, and Hogan leaned heavily on Kinch, longing desperately to lie down and rest. "Down this way," he heard Le Beau call from ahead of him. A tiny whimper of exhaustion escaped his lips before he could stop it.

"It's okay, Colonel," Kinch assured him in a low voice; "we're just gonna take it slow."

_We don't have time to take it __**slow**__!_ Hogan thought urgently. Unable to catch his breath, he could only try to convey his concern through his eyes, but Kinch wasn't looking at him. _"Nuh—"_ he tried, gasping. Kinch turned toward him. Hogan tried again. "No… _time_ to… tay…" But it was just too hard. Hogan felt dizzy. His head was pounding. He tried to push Kinch away to make him understand what he was trying to say.

Kinch already knew and held on all the tighter. Oberholzer had taken too much away from Hogan already; he wasn't about to let that psychopath take any more. "Colonel," Kinch said, his voice firmer, his eyes determined, "_you can do this._ We'll take it slow."

Hogan's body sagged a bit in mute acceptance. Then, not even bothering to open his eyes, he pushed one foot ahead of him, and let Kinch lead the way.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"This is it, then; we're finished." Scotty crossed his arms in front of him and shook his head, staring at a speck of nothing on the floor of the common room in the barracks. "No more Klink, no more operation."

"Even Burkhalter got it this time," Baker said. "They sure wanted to keep Colonel Hogan under wraps. The General must have been using him as leverage with Berlin when the others disappeared, but as soon as the Colonel was gone—_poof_, no more Burkhalter, either."

"Yeah, and you notice his sister _Frau_ Linkmeyer's been keeping herself scarce here the last few days," Thomas added.

"Well, there are some things even a General's sister can't fix."

"So what becomes of _us_?" Foster asked no one in particular.

They all sat silently for a moment, letting the question they'd all been asking themselves bounce around in their heads. Finally, Olsen spoke quietly into the gloom:

"I say we try to escape."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Blimey, who'd have thought one bloody factory could be so big?" Newkirk complained. He pulled up alongside Kinch and looked at the ghost-like pallor of Hogan's face. "How is he?" he asked, frowning.

"Almost out," Kinch admitted, as he helped Hogan take one more shuffling step forward. "He's not even lifting his feet any more. I sure hope we're not making him worse by forcing him to keep going like this."

"The alternative is letting Oberholzer get hold of him again," Newkirk replied.

"We cannot let that happen," Le Beau declared, as he and Carter turned from their positions in the lead back toward the others.

Kinch leaned forward to drag Hogan's other foot ahead. "No, we can't. But we're sure not doing him any good." He caught himself as Hogan seemed to momentarily lose consciousness and threw the two of them off-balance. "I'm trying not to even think about what happens if we get out but we have no idea where Oberholzer is."

Newkirk came around to Hogan's other side and shifted some of the burden of the Colonel's weight to himself. "We'll burn that bridge when we come to it," he quipped somberly. "Right now the only thing I'm worried about is getting the gov'nor out of here."

"We'll be out soon, Colonel," Carter said encouragingly, wishing so hard that Hogan would come back to life. "Le Beau ran ahead to scout. He says there's an exit just two corridors away."

Hogan's eyes opened listlessly for a few seconds and then drifted shut. "You can make it that little way, gov'nor," Newkirk encouraged softly. "After that, we're home free."

_Home…_ The word filtered into Hogan's brain and stayed there. _Home…_ He opened his eyes and let out a breath of release. Then he lifted his head slowly, and with all the strength he had, he took a deliberate, shaky step forward.

Newkirk smiled. "That's it, Colonel. A few more like that and we'll be out of here in no time."

Hogan didn't answer, all his concentration on taking another step. He managed it, then his knees buckled and he started sinking.

Kinch and Newkirk stopped his descent almost immediately. "Whoa there, Colonel," Kinch said. "Don't go running ahead on your own. We're all in this together."

Hogan didn't react. He simply stood panting between his two men, looking like it was all he could do to stay standing, and he needed help even to do that. "Let's go," Le Beau suggested gruffly, unable to watch Hogan deteriorate before his eyes. "It's not far now."

Le Beau turned and started leading the way again, and Carter, after a final glance at Hogan's white face, followed. Kinch and Newkirk reinforced their hold on the Colonel, then started their painfully slow journey once more.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"What did you find?"

The soldiers standing before Major Hochstetter lowered their eyes, the acid tone in his voice making them cower even before they had a chance to tell him anything. "Nothing, _Herr_ Major," the Corporal said. "The plant was thoroughly destroyed with high-quality explosives."

Hochstetter grimaced and shook his head. "Bah—it is what I expected. Go back to Headquarters and help the others who are questioning the local people. I will join you later, when I am done here."

"_Jawohl, Herr Major."_

Hochstetter turned away from their retreating backs and, thinking hard, scratched his face absentmindedly. "You are responsible for this, Hogan. _All_ of this." He drew his hand slowly into a fist. _And unlike Burkhalter, I do not think you simply escaped and went back to England while you could. I believe you got out to try and make a mockery of the Third Reich…and then could not return to Stalag 13 as planned._

A tiny light rose into Hochstetter's eyes. _Perhaps, Hogan, you are dead._ He smiled at the thought. _In which case I will be delighted to bring this investigation to a close. All I have to do is prove it… or make it happen myself._


	21. Ch 20, The Tables Turn And Turn Again

No ownership of the _Hogan's Heroes_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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"There it is, Colonel—we're nearly there; you can see the door now. Look!" Kinch tried to sound excited as he spoke to his commanding officer, hoping that it would rouse the Colonel into some liveliness.

Hogan didn't respond or even open his eyes, just vaguely lifted one foot as though to take another step, then let it fall without making any progress. From beside them, Newkirk heaved a worried sigh. "We're gonna have to carry him. Once we're out in the open, even if he's awake, he's not going to be able to move fast enough to have any chance at not being caught."

"He won't like it," Kinch warned him, although at this point he was of the same opinion.

"Who cares," Newkirk answered without a trace of humor. He looked at Hogan and his heart clenched. "He probably won't even notice."

"It's all clear outside," Carter said. He looked from Kinch to Newkirk, trying to avoid looking at Hogan. "Louis says we shouldn't have any problem."

They turned to look toward the door, where Le Beau was gesturing for them to come, quickly. Without a second thought, Kinch scooped Hogan up in his arms, and Hogan, too weak to resist, merely let out a small groan. "Let's go." Kinch held Hogan close to his body, feeling the heaving of the Colonel's chest as he tried to take in more air. The Sergeant forced his fears into the back of his mind and, gripping Hogan more protectively, he moved forward toward the exit.

Soon it became apparent to Kinch that Hogan's gasping breaths were more than that—Hogan was actually trying to speak. "It's all right, Colonel," Kinch said, hoping he sounded reassuring even as he hurried, huffing, toward the door. "It's all clear. We're outta here."

But it didn't settle the Colonel, and his distressed gasps got more insistent. "'s'too—too ease… _easy_," Hogan finally choked out.

Kinch just glanced down and kept going. "What do you mean 'it's too easy'?" he asked. "We need a break once in awhile."

"Not… Oberh… style…. _Think…._"

Kinch shook his head and kept walking as Hogan fell still. Then suddenly, he stopped short. "Wait," he called to the others.

Le Beau, who had opened the door ahead of them, turned around. "What is it, Kinch?"

Kinch remained still, horrified that he hadn't realized it himself before now. "There's something wrong here."

"Wrong?" Newkirk echoed. "There's nothin' wrong except that we're standing here when we should be getting out! Let's go!"

But Kinch stood his ground. "No—the Colonel's right; it's not Oberholzer's style. Think about it—every time Colonel Hogan's made a move, Oberholzer's been there."

"But he's not here now, so let's go!" Le Beau exclaimed, and he turned back toward the door and stepped forward, with Newkirk right behind him. Carter looked back at Hogan in Kinch's arms, then toward his other friends, and hesitated. "Carter, come on!"

Still, Carter was torn. "Kinch, aren't you coming?"

"There is no need for arguments," a new voice said.

Startled, Hogan's men immediately looked toward the doorway, where Oberholzer had come up from behind Le Beau and was standing quite calmly in their way, pistol in hand, aiming directly at Newkirk.

"Put your gun down," Oberholzer ordered Le Beau. Not wanting to, but with no other alternative, the Corporal obeyed, tossing it to the ground a few feet away from them. "You do not need to argue," Oberholzer told them again, casually waving Le Beau and Newkirk further toward the others. He closed the door behind him and nodded approvingly at the group. "I have everything planned for you."

"So the Colonel was _right_," Carter admitted out loud; "you knew what was going on all along."

Oberholzer smiled broadly, his eyes falling on Hogan bundled up in Kinch's arms. "Indeed I did," he said with a nod. "It was most clever of your Colonel to realize that." He stepped forward toward Kinch, whose eyes had never left the German's face. Oberholzer shook his head in mock dismay. "He doesn't look well, does he? It's a shame. He was such a worthy adversary in so many respects. And so devastatingly predictable in others."

"What have you done to him, Oberholzer?" Kinch asked, his voice treading a thin line of anger and desperation.

But the Major simply shook his head. "Put him down."

Kinch drew Hogan in even closer. Without changing his calm demeanor, Oberholzer primed his weapon and aimed it at Le Beau's head, grabbing the Frenchman by one arm to keep him under his control. "Put him down," he said again, his voice stony.

This time Kinch obeyed, slowly lowering Hogan to the floor at his feet. The Colonel groaned and balled into himself a bit, now seemingly oblivious to what was happening around him. Kinch stood up stiffly. "What are you gonna do to him?" he asked.

Another confident, calm smile from the German. He didn't answer. "I want you all to walk back the way you came," he said instead. He released his hold on Le Beau and pushed him toward the others, then waved his weapon to move them together. "There is a room at the end of the hall downstairs on the left. We will go there together."

"What are you gonna do to the Colonel?" Newkirk dared to ask again.

"_The Colonel _is none of your concern," Oberholzer said, his tone hard. "You will do as I tell you. Move."

Hogan's men exchanged looks, deciding silently on their course of action, uncertain about their chance of success, but sure that the time had come when they had no choice. Then, with one last look at Colonel Hogan, they turned as one toward their captor.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Olsen clenched and unclenched his fists as he sat with the others scattered around the common room in the barracks. The time had finally come, and he wasn't at all confident about it. "So it's decided," he said: "we'll use the emergency tunnel tomorrow night after lights-out. Then we'll spread out and go to the safe houses that we've used along the escape route, and make our own ways to the rendezvous point for the sub. Right?"

Baker nodded. "Right." He sighed. "I can't believe it's come to this. I mean, who'd have thought…" He let his thought drift off, unspoken.

But there wasn't a man in the room who didn't know what he was thinking. It was Foster who said it aloud. In an almost wistful voice, he said, "You know, when Colonel Hogan was here, I thought we could do _anything_." The others nodded agreement, lost in memories and dreams of their own. "Now, I feel like…"

"I feel like a _prisoner_," Scotty admitted, a sheepish, regretful look on his face. "And that's a feeling I hate. I felt that way before Colonel Hogan came here, but when he started this operation really rolling… well, I just felt _different_, that's all."

"We all did," Olsen agreed. "Why be just an ordinary flyer—_if_ you manage to make it back to England—if you can do something really amazing, up close and personal?"

"I never thought of flying as 'ordinary' before now," Thomas shared. "And it's not that I don't love being in the air, but…"

"But this has been something special," Baker concluded quietly.

A silence fell over the room.

"Stupid Krauts," Scotty finally muttered, his voice strained. "Stupid dogs." Louder, he continued, "Stupid barbed wire fences! _Stupid Gestapo!_ This is some fine mess they've gotten us into—who the hell ever thought I'd feel bad about wanting to break out of a _POW camp_?" The others said nothing, surprised by the outburst but not by the emotions behind it. They all knew exactly what Scotty was feeling. "And you know the worst part?" he added. The other prisoners held their collective breath. They knew what was coming. "We may never even know what happened to Colonel Hogan and the others." He sat down heavily on the bench at the table. "All the good things we've done here… all the people we've helped… and we can't do a thing for _them_."

No one had anything to say. Eventually, Baker sighed and got up from the table. "You guys had better get some sleep. I'll go confirm the safe houses for tomorrow night," he said listlessly.

"Yeah, we want everything to go smoothly," Olsen agreed without much enthusiasm.

"Hey," Foster spoke up suddenly, "what about the tunnels and the radio and all that?"

Olsen shrugged. "Leave them as they are," he said. "Maybe some other poor soul will find them one day and use them to get out, too." He sighed to himself as he watched the bunk above the tunnel rattle upwards. _But no one will ever use them the way the Colonel did…._

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The foursome spread quick as lightning around Oberholzer, leaving an open space in front of him. Newkirk, who was closest to the hand holding the gun, came down hard on Oberholzer's arm, deflecting any "reflex" shot so it hit the floor without hurting anyone. Le Beau grabbed his other arm even as Kinch came up from the back and wrapped one arm around the Major's neck and pulled hard, throwing the German off balance. Carter snatched the writhing weapon out of Oberholzer's hand, and the whole group tumbled to the floor as the Major flailed and shouted like a wild man trying to free himself.

"Stop this! I will kill him—_he_ will pay for your insolence!"

"You won't kill _anyone_," Kinch said angrily, pushing Oberholzer's head down hard against the floor. Wrangling him around until they had him flat on his stomach, Newkirk actually sat on his back, taking the gun from Carter and aiming it at the back of the German's head, while Carter tried to still his thrashing legs.

"What do we do with him?" Le Beau asked, trying to stop Oberholzer's waving arms from reaching back toward Newkirk.

"Yeah—this fella's like a bucking bronco!" Carter agreed.

Kinch paused. "We'll have to take him with us."

"_Take him with us_?" Newkirk echoed. He looked over at Hogan, who was moving vaguely, with obvious difficulty, on the floor nearby. _Poor gov'nor. He can't even sit up. _Then his angry eyes fell on Oberholzer. "I don't think we should waste any more time on this clown. It's time to kill him."

"Newkirk!" Carter couldn't help exclaiming.

"We gave him the soft treatment last time—and look how it's come back on us! We can't take a chance that it'll happen again!" The Englishman struggled to stay balanced as renewed writhing from Oberholzer nearly sent him flying. "He's not gonna do us any favors, Kinch. He knows too much—and to him, it's all _personal_."

"Newkirk is right," Le Beau agreed. "This filthy _Boche_ will think nothing of coming back and trying this again."

Newkirk pressed the gun up against Oberholzer's head. The German instantly grew still. "I say we don't give him the chance."

"We can't do that," Kinch argued back, though every time he looked at Hogan and thought of him struggling so hard just to take a breath, he wondered why. "What happens if we kill him, someone finds his body, and they connect that to the Colonel being away from camp? The Gestapo knew that he had his sights set on Colonel Hogan. _And _that it was all centered around _this factory_. Someone with half a brain puts one and one together and comes up with the five of us—in front of a firing squad."

"But we'll be _back_ in camp by then!" Newkirk reminded him.

"Do you think that will make any difference to the Gestapo?" Kinch asked.

"We could hide the body. No one's looking for him anyway. Who would know?"

"It's not for us to choose," Kinch insisted, glancing at Hogan. "It's something the Colonel should decide." Kinch shook his head. "Plus… we just don't operate that way." He paused as the others absorbed the truth in his statement. Yes, Oberholzer was trouble. Yes, he was potentially a lot more trouble in the future. Yes, he had caused Heaven-only-knew how much damage to the operation, and to Colonel Hogan himself. But shooting him here and now would be like executing him in front of a firing squad. And not one of them was sure he could live with that, no matter how much it could be justified. "I say we bring him back to camp where we can keep him under guard ourselves. Then we let the Colonel, and London, decide what's best."

"I don't like it," Newkirk said grudgingly. "But it makes sense."

"That's why you don't like it," Le Beau said.

"Let's find some rope—and a _gag_—and tie this guy up—_tight_. We might have to take him with us, but we sure don't have to listen to him," Kinch declared.

"You can say that again," Newkirk agreed sourly. "I recommend you try that room at the end of the hall downstairs he wanted us to go back to; he's probably got a few interesting implements of torture in there that he'd have no problem using on us." Oberholzer gave a jerk beneath him. "The tables are turned now, eh, Fritz?" Newkirk sneered, with a push of his hand stilling the German again. "Now _you'll_ know what it feels like to be the one who's all trussed up with no place to go."

"Louis and I will go look. We'll be back in a minute," Kinch said.

"Make it quick," Carter requested. "His legs sure kick a lot."

"Not to worry, Carter; I have no intention of staying here a single second longer than necessary. Come on, Louis. With any luck this'll be all over in five minutes."

"Right."

Newkirk leaned over to speak into Oberholzer's ear. "It'll all be over for _you_, you crummy Kraut," he growled. "You have no idea how lucky you are that Kinch spoke up before I had a chance to pull the trigger. I wouldn't have hesitated for a second." He turned briefly to Carter, who was still struggling with the German's thrashing legs. "Let's get him up, Carter—I'm sure he wouldn't mind _seeing_ the gun that might just get rid of him once and for all—if I have _my_ way about it."

Uncomfortable with Newkirk's bitterness but saying nothing, Carter nodded and did his best to climb off of Oberholzer's legs without being kicked anywhere he wouldn't appreciate, reaching out to take the gun from Newkirk's hands while the Englishman got up.

Then it all happened before he had a chance to even think. As Newkirk's hand rose to Carter, Oberholzer suddenly twisted his body hard, sending Newkirk flying backwards and loosening his grip on the Luger. As Newkirk struggled to maintain his balance, the Major's hand reached up and grabbed Newkirk's arm, clawing his way up toward the weapon and finally prizing it out of his hand even as Carter frantically moved forward in an effort to stop what was happening. Newkirk landed with a solid thud on the floor, and Carter froze as the barrel of the gun now faced him.

Never taking his eyes off the gun, Carter reached down and pulled Newkirk up. Oberholzer, breathing heavily and looking more than a little rumpled, stared back, unspeaking. His eyes spoke volumes.

"Oh, bother," Newkirk said under his breath. "I don't think this was quite what I had in mind."

Carter nodded agreement. "Me neither," he said softly.


	22. Chapter 21, Run For Your Life

No ownership of the _Hogan's Heroes_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to LJ Groundwater. Thanks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Oberholzer waved the pair toward the wall and further away from him, glancing only fleetingly at Hogan, who was still moving almost drunkenly on the floor. "If you don't mind, gentlemen, it will be _I_ who has the pleasure of pulling the trigger on _you_." His eyes hardened as he set them firmly on Newkirk. "Turn around and put your hands up on the wall."

Carter shot a look at his friend.

"You, too, young Sergeant Carter. I would not let your friend die alone. Colonel Hogan must know you died together… and all because he would not listen."

Newkirk met Carter's eyes, regretful. The pair said nothing, but they were communicating nonetheless. Asking each other: could they get away with overpowering Oberholzer again? While he was clearly strong and aware of what they were capable of trying? Did they have any hope of success if they resisted? Or would they die trying and Kinch, Le Beau and Hogan would face even more trouble? Almost as one, they turned and obeyed, their hearts in their throats, their minds racing. _Please, fellas, come back in time to stop this!_

Down on the floor, Hogan watched with horrified, still-unfocused eyes at the scene unfolding before him: Newkirk and Carter, frozen in place; Oberholzer, taking careful aim, his delighted, deranged laughter echoing in Hogan's pounding head; the other gun, abandoned on the floor between Hogan's men and the Major, fully loaded, Hogan was sure. Le Beau had said so. Hadn't he? Or was that a dream?

His decision was made. Harnessing his meager strength, Hogan rose up as quickly as he could manage and dived across the front of where Newkirk and Carter were standing, grabbing the forgotten pistol from the floor. "Get _down_!" he ordered, not even sure he was shouting out loud. He heard the shots explode from Oberholzer's weapon and, twisting his body, he fired what he hoped was an accurate shot toward the German maniac who'd caused them all so much misery. Then he fell to the ground, breathing heavily and dropping the gun.

Hogan struggled up to see if he had hit his mark. Oberholzer was lying completely still not ten feet away from him, blood seeping from Hogan-didn't-know-where onto the floor, his weapon still held loosely in his hand. But as the Colonel tried to check on his men, his strength failed him, and his body went limp as adrenalin waned and pain finally began radiating from a bullet wound he only now realized he had received. He tried to call out. "Carter…" But his voice was barely a breath in the silence. "Newkirk—" Red–hot nails pierced his chest and his stomach. He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Colonel!"

Carter's panicked voice was right above him. Hogan opened his eyes, trying to focus on the face of the young Sergeant. "Not… my men," he panted. Breathing was so difficult, so painful. "Nuh-_not_…" Newkirk's face came into view then seemed to fade away. "…because of me."

"No, sir," Newkirk answered, his voice low and clearly full of restrained emotion. His heart and mind still racing from their close call, he knelt beside Hogan and tried not to look him in the eye, or to listen to the Colonel's feeble cry as he was rolled onto his back. He wasn't sure he'd be able to hold it together if he did. But he found Hogan's presence, even in his current condition, too powerful to ignore. "We're all fine."

A tiny, triumphant smile touched the very edges of Hogan's mouth. He tried to speak, but only a rattling sound escaped from his throat. Newkirk ripped off his own dress jacket and tried to press it gently over Hogan's abdomen, trying to stem the bleeding. Hogan cried out softly in pain, clenching his teeth and taking gasping, ragged breaths that even before being shot had been so very, very hard to come by.

"It's time to get you out of here, sir," Newkirk said. He gently lifted his commanding officer's head onto his lap.

The smallest, weakest protest from Hogan. "Get the others…. Get out," he breathed. His eyelids were too heavy to keep open. Oberholzer had accomplished what he had set out to do. Whatever he had been injecting into Hogan, combined with this wound, was sucking the life out of him. As much as he wanted to be wrong, Hogan was certain that Lady Luck had finally turned her back on him.

Newkirk leaned in closer as Hogan continued in less than a whisper. "Take mmm-muh-my…" A pause as the nails were driven in harder. "…wings. My _wings_," he said again, a little more strongly. "…f-f-father… w-wanted to be a pilot but he—" Another moment of gritted teeth and he abandoned the explanation. "Give... give them…"

Too weak to curl into himself, Hogan rocked slightly as he moaned in ever-intensifying pain. Newkirk moved out from under the American, unsure what to do. Finally, he said, "You'll give them to him yourself, gov'nor. After the war is over." Newkirk's mind was in a frantic whirl. He watched Hogan struggle vainly to overcome his suffering long enough to protest. His failure frightened the Englishman, who added urgently, almost pleadingly, "And that's an order… sir."

The barely discernable exhalation of breath from Hogan and a twitch of his lips told Newkirk the Colonel was actually trying to laugh. The Corporal grasped that small sign of lucidity with desperation, as another sound that he could have sworn was the word "stubborn," met his ears. He looked intently at the pale, trembling officer, and then back up at Carter. "How fast can you run, Carter?" he asked.

For once, the man who always had something to say could not find words. He just tore his distraught, wide eyes from Hogan and turned them to Newkirk.

"Andrew! _Can you run?_" Newkirk prompted him.

Carter finally nodded quickly, then looked back at Hogan, fear making his knees weak.

"Good. Then, mate—start running right now. We need to find us some _Krauts_!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"_Halt! Hände hoch!"_

Carter ground to a halt as the voice came at him from Heaven only knew where. Panting heavily, his breaths appearing in front of him in little white puffs, he was relieved to be able to stop making so much noise barreling through the woods—so much against everything he had been trained to do—but he was smart enough to still be scared, in case whoever this German was didn't happen to care about what he had to say.

He raised his hands in the air, waving them to show he was obeying in the dim light. _"Gefangener!"_ he called out. _"Schießen Sie nicht!" Prisoner! Don't shoot!_

A few seconds later, the man behind the voice appeared—a Corporal, Carter noticed, lanky, looking slightly uncomfortable in his own skin, and wearing a Gestapo uniform. His rifle was held perfectly comfortably, though, and Carter made another concerted effort to show that he meant no one any harm. "Friend._ Gefangener._" He brought his hands up even higher.

Now what? "I'm from Stalag 13. _Stalag 13!_" Carter said earnestly. The Corporal's eyes widened at the mention of the prison camp. "I need your help," Carter said. The Corporal frowned. "You have to come—uh, _kommen_," Carter tried, gesturing with his hands still over his head. "My Colonel's been hurt—uh… _Oberst Amerikaner_ is… uh…" _Geez, I wish I could just say it all in German and get it over with—the Colonel hasn't got much time for me to waste trying to cover the operation!_ Carter turned the fingers of one hand into a gun and lowered it to his stomach and made shooting noises. The bewildered look on the German's face turned to consternation. Carter quickly raised his hands back up over his head. "_Oberst_ shot! Uh—need help! _Kommen…. Bitte, kommen!_ He's bleeding a lot and I think he's gonna die!"

Carter didn't know if the Corporal understood everything he said, but at the very least the tone of his voice would have made an impact. The German nodded once, never taking his eyes off of Carter, and he called out, _"Feldwebel! Ich habe etwas gefunden! Kommen Sie schnell!"_

Carter breathed a sigh of relief as the Gestapo Corporal called for someone else to come. Maybe, just maybe, they could get to Colonel Hogan in time.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch bit his lip so hard he tasted blood as he knelt beside Hogan, watching the Colonel struggle to breathe and to fight illness and the pain of the gunshot wound. Hogan's eyelids were fluttering; whether he was awake or unconscious, Kinch couldn't tell. But he took a strange comfort in seeing Hogan suffering like this—it meant the Colonel was still alive, and still fighting. Seeing him completely still would be worse.

"Carter'll be back soon, sir," Kinch said softly, still putting pressure on the material over Hogan's abdomen. Hogan moaned and moved under his shaking hand but did not answer. When Kinch and Le Beau had heard gunshots and raced back to find this catastrophe, Kinch had moved to his commanding officer's side immediately, the look in Newkirk's eyes prompting him to tell the Englishman that he would take over.

Newkirk stood over Oberholzer's body now, his rage and fear nearly boiling over. "I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance," he growled angrily at the Major. He looked at the body of the German who had caused more grief than he could remember having suffered in years. First, thinking Le Beau and Carter were gone for good; then, feeling responsible for Kinch's disappearance; now, not knowing whether Hogan was going to make it out of this mess alive—and feeling responsible for that as well. "What's taking Carter so long, anyway?" he burst heatedly. "You'd think it wouldn't be hard to find a Kraut around here."

"It might not be that easy," Le Beau countered from where he was squatting on the floor, close enough that he was nearby if assistance was required; far enough away that he didn't get too great a look at Hogan's wounds and faint. "This whole area was deserted after the plant was bombed. He will have to run farther. And when he finally does find _les_ _Boches_,he will have to convince them to come here instead of taking him back to a prison camp or turning him over to the Gestapo."

"Blimey, that's cheerful," Newkirk said bitterly, resisting the urge to kick Oberholzer with his boot. The German wouldn't cause anyone trouble ever again; Newkirk had checked himself to make sure Oberholzer was dead. "I'll be sure to call you by your nickname from now on, Le Beau: Little _Mademoiselle_ Sunshine."

"I was just telling you the truth," Le Beau snipped.

"I know the _truth_, Louis; you don't have to tell me the _truth_."

"All right, guys—_enough_," Kinch snapped. "We have bigger things to worry about." He looked down at Hogan. The Colonel's skin was clammy and white, and his breathing was coming hard. His eyes were open now, but they didn't seem focused on anything. Still, Kinch was happy to see them, and he leaned down, hoping Hogan would concentrate on his face for a few seconds. "It won't be long now, sir. You know how fast Carter can run."

A tiny smile twisted itself onto Hogan's face as he gasped out a rascally reply. "Swift and… Sure…" A long, low moan. His eyes slid away from Kinch's face. "…Through Forest."

"Yes, _sir_," Kinch replied with an enthusiasm he didn't feel. "He's never let us down yet. He's not about to do it now."

"Should one of us go out after him?" Newkirk suggested suddenly. "I mean, in case he's not finding anyone, one of us being out there, too, might double our chances, right?"

"Carter won't let anything stop him," Kinch answered.

"He might not have a choice," Le Beau said in support of Newkirk's statement. "I am happy to go."

"Me, too," Newkirk agreed.

Kinch didn't have a chance to reply, as the door burst open behind them and Carter came charging in. "He's here—he's here, fellas. You've gotta help him!" he called to the people behind him. Hogan's men immediately turned toward the commotion; Carter had brought the _Gestapo_ with him! "How is he, Kinch?" he asked, moving in to kneel near Hogan's head. "I ran as fast as I could!"

"Not too good, Carter," Kinch told him. He looked at the Colonel, whose eyes had closed and whose difficult breathing seemed now even shallower than it had before. "He's breathing. That's about all I can say at the moment."

Newkirk and Le Beau watched as the Germans went over to Oberholzer's body and looked for themselves. Then they looked at Carter, and Hogan, and started talking to each other.

_They don't know what to believe,_ Newkirk realized as he spied the guns on the floor nearby. He couldn't blame them, but Colonel Hogan didn't have time for them to waste arguing. "Get Major Hochstetter!" Newkirk blurted out. The trio of Germans stopped talking and looked at him. "Look—take the guns. The _guns_," he emphasized, pointing to the weapons on the floor. He held his hands up. Le Beau and Carter did the same. "See? Take them," he said, gesturing for the Germans to retrieve the guns themselves. They did. "Now go find Major Hochstetter. Do you know him? Hochstetter? Little fella with the moustache?"

"Major Hochstetter?" repeated one of the Gestapo men, trying to make sense of Newkirk's rambling.

"That's right—Hochstetter. Major Hochstetter. He'll tell you Colonel Hogan is from Stalag 13. Him. There. Colonel Hogan," Newkirk said, pointing to Hogan still limp in Kinch's arms. "He's from Stalag 13. General Burkhalter and Colonel Klink were there when this fella Major Oberholzer took us—we can explain everything, but you have to hurry. _Hurry—schnell!_"

The Germans looked at each other in obvious indecision. The one nearest Oberholzer leaned in for a closer examination. _"Dieser Offizier ist geschossen und getötet worden!"_ he exclaimed to the other. _This officer has been shot and killed!_

The second Gestapo guard, the Corporal who had stumbled across Carter in the woods, looked more closely at Hogan. _"Ja, aber dieser Mann ist auch geschossen worden. Er schaut in der Nähe von Tod." __This man has also been shot. He looks close to death._

_Closer than I'd like,_ Kinch answered in his head. "Please. We'll do anything—just help us get Colonel Hogan to a hospital."

"Hospital?" the Corporal echoed. _"Krankenhaus?"_

"_Ja, ja,"_ Kinch replied, knowing that word had been used in front of him in camp, and so it wouldn't cause them any trouble to use it. "_Krankenhaus_. Hospital. Doctor."

The Germans conversed softly for a few seconds, then the Corporal finally pieced things together. _"Dieser Mann sagt, dass sie von Stalag 13 sind. Und dieser verwundete Offizier muss der Mann sein, über den Major Hochstetter schrie. Wir können nicht ihn hier verbluten lassen!"_

Hogan's men exchanged hopeful looks in secret. Yes, they _were_ the ones missing from Stalag 13. Yes, Colonel Hogan most probably _was _the officer about whom Hochstetter had been screaming. And no, they _could not_ let him bleed to death here!

"_Nein. Major Hochstetter würde unsere Köpfe haben!"_

Le Beau would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so critical. _You __**bet**__ he would have your heads. What is it he's always spouting to Klink? __**Heads will roll!**_

One more second of indecision and then the Corporal looked at Carter. _"Kommen. Wir werden Ihren Oberst medizinische Hilfe bekommen. Aber Sie sind verhaftet. Versuchen Sie zu flüchten, und Sie werden geschossen." We will get your Colonel medical help. __But you are under arrest. Try to escape, and you will be shot._ The Corporal gestured with his weapon toward the door.

"_Kommen?"_ Carter repeated, as the others began moving instantly. "Come? You mean you're gonna help the Colonel? Yeah?" he asked, trying to keep up the charade, even in his immense relief. He stood up. "Gee, you fellas are great. Thanks a lot. I mean, _danke_, _danke_ very much." Ducking his head to show submissiveness, Carter raised his hands once again to illustrate to the Gestapo men that he had no intention of doing anything that might make them change their minds.

Newkirk rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, but as Kinch lifted Hogan so very gently off the floor and headed out, with Le Beau close behind holding the Colonel's beloved crush cap, the Englishman pulled Carter aside and murmured in his ear, "Well done, mate. Now the gov'nor's really got a chance."

Carter wanted to feel that way, too, but he couldn't shake the very deep fear that had settled in the pit of his stomach and was filling him near to bursting. "Thanks, Newkirk. I just hope I ran fast enough."


	23. Chapter 22, Questions, Questions

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

With only seconds to check that their stories matched, Hogan's men were separated as they were marched into Gestapo Headquarters. And though it was the hardest thing in the world for them to allow the Germans to leave with the Colonel in their arms, they knew they had done everything possible to help him.

Kinch spent his quiet time contemplating the events that had led to this moment. The guilt he felt for convincing Newkirk that killing Oberholzer was wrong was overwhelming. He should have known the Major wasn't going to be so easily subdued; the Colonel had made the right decision, even in his severely weakened condition. Kinch realized that Hogan's choices had been to save his men, or to give Oberholzer the benefit of the doubt. Hogan had chosen his men, and Kinch wondered why the choices had seemed so much more muddled to _him_. _I did what I thought you would do... but then you did something totally different, _Kinch thought of his Colonel. _For us. _

He thought about how Newkirk had acted when Hogan was being carried out of the factory. So restrained, yet shaking like a leaf. He had been right, Kinch knew... _he had been right_. And yet the Englishman had taken the time to front up to Kinch and say in a low tone, "You couldn't have known, mate. What you said made sense... and it would have to the Colonel, too. It just didn't turn out that way."

Kinch had nodded stiffly, his throat feeling swollen and full, his eyes locked on Hogan, his heart ready to break even as he continued to berate himself. If Hogan survived... _if_ he survived... could the Colonel forgive him?

His thoughts turned then to the decision that Newkirk had made—to find some Germans, and get Hogan medical help. Risk it all, but save Colonel Hogan. He wished he could be as much of a man. Still, Kinch prayed that Newkirk's gamble would pay off. The smug, triumphant look on Hochstetter's face when he stood over Hogan made the Sergeant's skin crawl, and Kinch had suppressed an overwhelming urge to push the Gestapo officer away from him. The silent, sneering jerk of his head that was Hochstetter's order for Hogan to be taken away was not a comfort, since it did not guarantee to the men that the promise made by the Corporal back in the bombed-out plant to get the Colonel medical help would be kept.

Kinch knew that his story, and Newkirk's, would be hardest to substantiate. Carter and Le Beau had been authorized to be away from camp at the time they were captured, but he and Newkirk had not. They would have to convince the Gestapo of a completely different scenario, though there would be no one to back it up. _Or deny it. Dead men tell no tales._

Exhausted by their ordeal and worried about his friends, Kinch ran a hand over his face and around the back of his neck. The movement reminded him of the single injection that Oberholzer had given him, and how it had affected him. He rubbed his face helplessly as he remembered how badly multiple injections had affected Hogan, leaving the Colonel hardly able to take a breath. _Please, God… please just let him live._

The cell door opened noisily and Kinch lowered his hands and looked at the visitor. A guard with a rifle barked a short, unmistakable order to accompany him. Steeling himself for what was to come, Kinch stood up and obeyed.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The question from Major Hochstetter was asked politely. "Tell me, Corporal Newkirk: what would Major Oberholzer have against you?"

Newkirk shrugged. "I don't think he liked me very much the last time we met."

"And what happened the last time you met?"

"He came to Stalag 13 with some wild theory about Colonel Hogan being a spy, and being as he was wrong, we didn't seem to hit it off. Look, where've you taken Colonel Hogan?" the Englishman demanded impatiently.

Hochstetter ignored the question and instead asked one of his own. "Did Major Oberholzer give you any _explanation_ for supposedly kidnapping you and the others?"

Newkirk's voice was respectful and efficient when he answered, its tone so correct that its irreverence could not be missed. "Yes, sir, he did. He said that he was very angry that his ideas about Colonel 'ogan were wrong and that everyone thought he was a bloody fool."

"You do know that Major Oberholzer was thought to have _died_ shortly after his visit to Stalag 13 last year, don't you?" Hochstetter asked him through gritted teeth.

Newkirk raised his eyebrows. "So that's how he got away with it. Interesting."

"Got away with what?"

"Well, he told us he took off to England after he was proven wrong about the Colonel."

"England?"

"Yes, sir. To try and save himself. You know: he didn't think his superiors in the Gestapo would be really forgiving of such a big mistake, so he decided to take the high road and join the Allies. They accepted him, but it didn't really work."

Hochstetter's already-sour face turned even more unpleasant. "Why is that?"

"Well, because the folks back in England thought he was a ruddy fool as well." Newkirk chortled. "How'd you like to be wrong in _two_ countries?" He sucked in a breath and shook his head. "Pride cometh before the fall, you know, Major. He couldn't take it, and he came back here to take revenge on Colonel Hogan for all his troubles. Ooh, it was _bad_, sir. It really got the wind up him, it did. Made him right unpleasant."

"Never mind his _social graces_," Hochstetter snarled. Newkirk shrugged. "How did you get out of camp?"

"I don't know, sir," Newkirk replied.

"You don't know?" Hochstetter asked, incredulously. "Surely if you were planning an escape you would know what route you were going to take to get out."

"I wasn't planning an escape," Newkirk insisted. "I was in my barracks, in my bunk, asleep. Next thing I know I'm in some ruddy cement room on the floor."

"And how do you account for that?" Hochstetter asked.

"I don't. That crazy ex-Nazi, Oberholzer, did it."

Hochstetter visibly pulled himself together at the insult. "Tell me how you got out of camp!"

"I tell ya, I don't know!" Newkirk snapped back. "Now, what have you done with Colonel 'Ogan?"

"You don't need to worry about _Colonel Hogan_," Hochstetter replied. "If we find out the truth, Major Oberholzer's shot may do our work for us."

Newkirk shivered inside. He should have shot Oberholzer when he had control of the weapon. He should have held on tighter to it when he and Carter were getting Oberholzer off the floor. He should have killed that Nazi bastard when he had the chance—months ago. If he had, none of this would be happening now.

"Major Hochstetter," Newkirk tried again, this time his tone contrite, and sincere. "You can ask any of the others. Major Oberholzer was angry at Colonel Hogan because he was wrong about him last year and he couldn't get on with his life. I don't know anything about him supposing to have died or what. All I know is he must have gone a bit around the twist because he captured all of us to try and get to the Colonel. None of us wanted to end up in that old shell of a plant, Colonel Hogan included, and we sent Carter out running for help because we just wanted to get back to camp in one piece."

Hochstetter had stopped pacing as Newkirk spoke, and now he turned to him directly. "Your answers have been most intriguing, Corporal," he said. "I will question the others, and then see if I need to speak with you further. In the meantime, you do not need to worry about Colonel Hogan: he is where I need him to be."

Newkirk wanted to ask if that was in a hospital, but he stopped himself. Whatever he said wouldn't help Hogan now.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Tell me, Sergeant: why did you try to get the attention of the Gestapo?"

"Well, I didn't. I mean, not specifically. I wanted to get the attention of _anybody_,and the Gestapo happened to be the first people I could find. I had to run an awful long way from that factory; I'd have talked to anybody by then, even a German." Carter sat perfectly straight in the chair, his hands in his lap, his eyes fixed on Major Hochstetter. He wasn't taking any chances on having a lapse of concentration.

Hochstetter took in a breath, warning himself not to lose his patience too early in the interrogation session. "So why were you looking to find _anybody_?" he asked.

"Well, that's easy. Because Colonel Hogan was hurt and we weren't gonna be able to take care of him by ourselves."

"So why not the Underground?" Hochstetter asked, his tone deceptively neutral.

Carter wasn't fooled. "I don't know how to find the Underground. And I figured it was better to have Colonel Hogan alive and a prisoner than dead and free."

"That is very wise thinking, Sergeant."

"Thank you."

"You had met Major Oberholzer before being held prisoner by him at the factory, hadn't you?"

Carter nodded. "Yes, sir. He came to Stalag 13 last year."

"And what did he come for?"

"He thought Colonel Hogan was a spy. He wasn't, though."

"He wasn't," Hochstetter repeated, deadpan.

"No, sir," Carter answered.

"And why did Major Oberholzer believe this?"

"I don't know, sir."

Hochstetter frowned. "And at that time, the Major brought you and Colonel Hogan to the factory where you led the Gestapo earlier tonight, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir," Carter said. "He thought if he brought us there that Colonel Hogan would be able to call off a bombing raid that he said he knew was happening, and that would be his proof that the Colonel was a spy."

"But the bombing _did_ happen."

"Yes, sir, it did. Colonel Hogan didn't have any way of stopping it."

"Because he was with you in the factory?" Hochstetter asked quickly.

"No, sir. Because he doesn't have any way of doing that. Major Oberholzer thought Colonel Hogan had a whole network of people that he could make do whatever he needed them to—and he thought the Colonel would get whoever it was that he knew to call everything off because he and I were there."

"And does he?"

"No, sir."

Hochstetter paused for a moment to regroup his thoughts. This man was answering infuriatingly willingly—politely, even; there was no need for him to increase the heat of the interrogation. But there had to be a hole in his story and that of the others. Otherwise, everything he himself believed would have to be wrong.

He came back to face Carter directly and asked sharply, "If Major Oberholzer was so sure that Hogan could stop the bombing, why did he let the two of you go?"

At this, Carter lapsed immediately into the set story. "He had to. The _Abwehr_ burst into the office while I was there with him and made him let us go. They said he was interfering with their business." _Not __**exactly**__ a lie. Newkirk and Kinch __**were**__ dressed as Abwehr officers. And he __**was**__ interfering with our business._

"And what business was that?"

"They didn't tell me. And I didn't think it would be polite to ask."

_Of course you didn't,_ Hochstetter thought disdainfully as he looked at Carter. "Then what happened?"

"We were released."

"And what happened to Major Oberholzer?"

"Well, he told us he went to England. I guess he figured if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. He said he was there for a long time." Carter screwed up his face as though deep in thought. "Gee, I thought _you'd_ know what he was doing, Major. I mean, you're the Gestapo, he's the Gestapo… Didn't he report back and tell you all about it?"

"No, he didn't," Hochstetter replied before he realized it. He shook his head angrily when he did. "_I_ will ask the questions!"

"Sorry."

"If he went to England, then why did come back and bring you to the factory?"

"He told us he was mad at Colonel Hogan," Carter explained. "He said he didn't fit in anywhere because everybody thought he was an idiot for believing the Colonel was a spy." Carter chuckled. "It _was_ pretty silly." Hochstetter's scowl cut him off. "Sir."

"What else did he tell you?" Hochstetter asked.

"Well, he didn't _tell_ as much as kind of _carried on_. He blamed Colonel Hogan for everything that happened to him, and figured if he killed the Colonel that everything would go away and he could go to England in peace. He said he took a long time planning his revenge against the Colonel, though. I thought that was pretty mean, especially since it wasn't Colonel Hogan's fault."

"_Everything_ is Colonel Hogan's fault," Hochstetter muttered, still trying to reconcile what he wanted to believe—that Hogan was a saboteur and had simply been caught—with Oberholzer's own unorthodox, unexplained—and somewhat traitorous—behavior. But he couldn't, and it made him angry.

"Do people get in trouble in the Gestapo if they don't show up for duty like Major Oberholzer did?" Carter asked. "I mean, he was with us _all_ the time. Was he on a furlough?"

"_Baaah!"_ Hochstetter burst. He glared at Carter. "That is none of your business!" he announced.

"Sorry," Carter said again. In his head, he ticked off the box next to the task that read _Plant some doubt._ He waited a couple of seconds, then asked, "How's Colonel Hogan, Major? Would you please tell me where he is?"

Hochstetter just fixed Carter with an icy stare and, with a nod to the guard standing nearby, he left the room.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Baker turned back toward the others as the gate to the camp swung shut behind the speeding black staff car. "Well, they're certainly in a hurry," he said, taking a seat at the common room table.

"You'd think they'd drive a little slower to face the firing squad," Olsen commented sourly.

"This might be the time to go," Foster suggested almost shyly. The others turned to him at his bunk. "I mean, if they're not around, it might be a good time to escape."

"He's right, you know," Scotty added, also subdued. "When the cat's away, the mice might get a little slacker at their jobs."

"That's true," Olsen agreed with a nod. "Unfortunately, we've got everything set up for tomorrow night."

"That's true," Baker said. "But the Underground said they're ready for us any time."

A very full silence descended on the barracks. Finally, Foster said, "Then maybe that time is now."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hochstetter rounded his desk, his brow furrowed, his mood completely foul. "I do not believe it. A Gestapo officer has been killed, and Hogan and his men are found nearby—actually _inviting_ the Gestapo to find them and arrest them. Why?"

"The answer is quite obvious, Hochstetter," Burkhalter answered: "Colonel Hogan was wounded, and they wanted to get help for him."

"Then why did they _all_ stay? Why did the others not run away?"

"Hogan's men are very loyal." Burkhalter paused, pursing his lips. He leaned back in his chair, unwilling to get his temper up as high as the Gestapo Major's. "They would do anything to protect each other, so Colonel Klink says."

"_Bah_, Klink," Hochstetter cursed. "That bubblehead knows nothing about his prisoners."

"He knew enough to be correct about Hogan not going far from camp!" Burkhalter declared angrily. "Hochstetter, your own record here is not unblemished. I believe you had better rethink your own position now, and not worry so much about Klink's."

But Hochstetter was unsatisfied. "Major Oberholzer was a dedicated Gestapo officer. I do not believe what Hogan's men are saying!"

"Obviously you forget, Hochstetter: Major Oberholzer vanished after he interrogated Hogan last year. Everyone assumed he had been killed in that factory when it was bombed by the Allies. If he was such a dedicated officer of the Third Reich, why did he disappear?"

Hochstetter shook his head, unable—_unwilling_—to fault Oberholzer. "He must have had his reasons. He would have spent all this time undercover, trying to find out more about Hogan and his work as a spy and saboteur. Even Hogan's own Sergeant Carter admitted that Oberholzer had been planning to catch Hogan for a long time before he took him and his men. It must have been a _secret order_."

"The Sergeant _also _said that Oberholzer told them he went to _England_. Hochstetter, your own wild theories are blinding you to the facts. When that plant was blown up, we had our _proof_ that Hogan was not capable of espionage. And if there was some secret order, someone would have told you by now. Oberholzer was a madman, obsessed with proving the unprovable. And he has passed that sickness on to _you_! Hogan is not a spy or a saboteur. He is an intolerable, irritating, impertinent American prisoner of war, who survives from day to day by making Colonel Klink's life a misery! To give him credit for any more than that is stupid."

"That is what he wants you to believe, General Burkhalter. It is all part of Colonel Hogan's genius."

"Not such a genius," Burkhalter countered. "If he was, he would not be in the condition he is in now." The General stood to leave. "Speaking of which, I must attend to more important matters than the Gestapo's rogue revenge-seekers. You will return Hogan's men to Stalag 13 by tomorrow night. That should be more than enough time for you to wrap up this investigation and decide once and for all that Major Oberholzer was a traitor and is the one to blame here. That is what I will be telling _Reichmarschall_ Göring when I speak to him, and what he will then be reporting to the _Führer_. I trust you will not disappoint _any of us_ by concluding otherwise. Good day, Major."


	24. Chapter 23, Going, Going, Gone

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Colonel Klink paced the floor of the small waiting room, his mind in a whirl, his emotions just as mixed up. Colonel Hogan had been found. His men had been found. And according to the stories they had been telling, they had had no intention of trying to escape from Stalag 13. _Just like Hogan had said._

The telephone call from Gestapo Headquarters had sent him and General Burkhalter flying out of camp, barreling toward Hammelburg as if their lives depended on it—and, Klink was smart enough to realize, they probably _did_. The fact that Hogan and his men had been recaptured meant that Klink's own record of "no successful escapes" would be restored, even precariously, to its former state. And that would mean, he hoped, that both he and General Burkhalter would be able to avoid the terrible fate that he knew had been awaiting them both. Burkhalter's last call to the _Reichmarschall_ had gone very, very badly. The next call, Klink hoped, would be very different.

Feeling safer than he had in weeks, Klink allowed his thoughts to turn to Hogan, hidden away somewhere in this hospital, wounded and apparently quite ill. The little Klink understood about the whole situation seemed to indicate that he'd told the Kommandant the truth from the very beginning: Hogan's men didn't want to escape. No wonder the American Colonel had been so frantic when they disappeared. No wonder he had begged Klink to send out search parties, to not give up looking, even to call in the Gestapo! He had bared himself to Klink for the good of his men, and Klink had flatly rejected him, believing that Hogan was just trying to help others to escape. And when Hogan himself had finally disappeared, Klink had cursed him and promised to haunt him all the way to Hell.

_But you were already there…._

Klink shook himself out of his guilty thoughts and considered the predicament Hogan and his men now found themselves in. A Gestapo officer was dead—shot in cold blood. No matter how difficult Major Oberholzer had made things for them, no matter how insane Oberholzer must have been to actively seek out the prisoners after so long in hiding, he was a member of the Third Reich, and killing him would not be looked on lightly.

Judging from Major Hochstetter's mental state, Klink thought, the instability of a Gestapo officer wasn't all that unusual. He snorted inwardly at his private jab at the State Secret Police, who terrified him more than he ever wanted to admit, then heaved a sigh as he realized that it was that instability that got Hogan into the mess he was in now, and would likely lead to his death, if not by Oberholzer's hand, then by firing squad.

_So we save your life so we can end it?_ Klink thought, shaking his head. He stopped his pacing and looked around the empty waiting room. Stepping out to the corridor, he addressed a passing nurse. "Excuse me, Nurse, I wonder when I might be able to see Colonel Hogan?"

"I beg your pardon, _Herr Oberst_?"

"The prisoner," Klink amended quickly, trying to sound more like an authoritative Kommandant, and less like a worried friend. "There was an American prisoner brought in earlier this evening, a Colonel. He had a gunshot wound. I need to—ask him some questions. Do you know when I will be able to see him?"

The young lady smiled back at Klink. "I understand, sir. Let me find out for you."

"_Danke."_ Klink turned away from the doorway and back to the empty room, wondering if he would have the strength to make one of his questions to Hogan, _Can you forgive me for doubting you?_

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan opened his eyes as the door opened. Flat on his back and exhausted from simply breathing, he spent only a couple of seconds identifying his visitor before letting his eyelids droop.

"_Danke, Schwester,"_ Hogan heard. He gave in and closed his eyes. _That's enough exercise for the day,_ he told himself.

Footsteps moved closer to the bed. Hogan sensed he was being studied. He didn't care enough to open his eyes again. Finally, a soft greeting: "Hogan. Can you hear me?"

Resigned, Hogan opened his eyes a crack and slid them toward Klink. "Mm," he replied softly, unwilling to tire himself further to say more.

"All of your men have been found. They are safe," Klink told him, knowing that would be uppermost in the American's mind.

"Mm," Hogan said again, his eyes closing.

Klink frowned. He had expected that revelation to have had more of an impact on Hogan. He worried anew about the American's condition. "They are being interrogated at the moment," Klink said. Then he watched.

Hogan's eyes opened at once, and a tiny frown creased his brow. "Hm?"

The urgency in that little sound convinced Klink that Hogan was able to understand, even if he wasn't expressing himself the way the German expected him to. Though he had opened and closed his eyes, Hogan hadn't moved since Klink had come into the room, and, Klink now fully realized, he probably wasn't _capable_ of more. Hogan really was _ill_, and seeing him this way disturbed him.

"Major Oberholzer is dead, Hogan. There are questions to be answered."

Hogan opened his mouth to speak, but only a breathless rasp came out. "I—"

Klink moved in as Hogan clearly attempted to raise himself up. It wasn't hard to restrain him; he had barely moved an arm. "Careful, Hogan. The doctor says you are in no condition to move about. Your men are safe and will be returned to camp when the Gestapo is finished with them."

"Th' Gesta…" Hogan tried to protest. Breaths were hard to come by. Klink could only watch as he struggled to take in enough air to speak. "Not their…" Hogan swallowed. "Not their… fault. I did it."

Klink stared hard at Hogan as his eyes closed again. "You did it?" Klink repeated.

Hogan said nothing for a moment. Klink watched as his chest rose and fell laboriously. Finally, Hogan whispered, "I shot him."

"Hogan…"

But this time Hogan didn't answer. His eyes remained closed, and from what Klink could see, the American had either lost consciousness, or he was too busy trying to get enough air to worry about anything else right now. In either case, he said nothing and did not open his eyes again, and after a few moments, when nothing happened, Klink gathered his thoughts together and left the room.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Well, this is it, then, fellas," Olsen said, swallowing hard as he looked around the barracks. "We're ready. Foster and I will head out now; Thomas and Goldman will head out in an hour; then Riley and—"

"We got it," Baker stopped him with a nod. "We'll meet you at the other end."

"Right."

There was a long pause as the men all stared at each other, feeling the need to say something, unsure exactly what that was. Finally Olsen just nodded and, with a tap on Foster's arm, said, "Let's go."

The others watched as the pair descended to the tunnel below Barracks Two. "Be safe," Scotty finally managed to say. It was all they could put into words.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"_Schultz!"_

The frantic call from Barracks Two's posted lookout sent the men lunging for cover and frantically switching off the light in the common room. In seconds, the door to the barracks opened, the visitor's figure silhouetted in the doorway by a sweeping searchlight, a cold wind driving those in the door's direct path firmly under their threadbare blankets.

"Cut it out, Schultz!" came a voice from somewhere in the dark. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," came the Sergeant's almost-but-not-quite apologetic voice. The door shut and light flooded the room. The men pretended to be upset by the intrusion on their sleep and grumbled as they burrowed even deeper. "I thought I heard a noise in here."

"It's Goldman's snoring," Thomas said without showing himself—or his travel-ready clothing—to the guard. "You could hear him all the way to France."

"Ha, ha," came Goldman's muffled reply.

"C'mon, shut the light out, Schultz; I need my beauty sleep," Scotty said.

"There's not enough time in all the world…" another voice quipped.

"All right, all right," Schultz said, hoping to stop all the grumbling. "I would think you boys would be happy."

"Happy about what, Schultz?" Baker asked. All he could think of to be happy about right now was that the lights were out and Schultz hadn't noticed two men missing.

"Didn't the other guard tell you? Colonel Hogan and the others have been found."

"_Found?"_

"_Ja,"_ Schultz replied, surprised they didn't know, but pleased to be able to say he knew something. "Colonel Klink and General Burkhalter left camp awhile ago to go see them."

"So they're okay?" Scotty asked, his mind, like those of the other men in the room, spinning—and wondering if they'd be in time to stop Olsen and Foster before they got themselves into trouble.

"They are _alive_," Schultz answered. "I don't know what happened to them. But I know General Burkhalter said he had a lot of questions to ask them, so they must be at least _mostly_ all right."

"Thanks, Schultz," Goldman said.

"Yeah, thanks, Schultz," the others echoed.

"You're welcome." The door opened and the cold swept in once more. "Sweet dreams."

The men counted to ten once the guard was gone, then immediately burst into action. They had to stop Olsen and Foster, before they all made a terrible, irreversible mistake.


	25. Chapter 24, Free at Last

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline, and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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"Hogan's men will return to Stalag 13 tomorrow, Klink," Burkhalter announced. "By then, Major Hochstetter will have had time to write his official report about this whole incident, and your camp will return to normal."

Klink was astonished. "General Burkhalter, I don't understand. I expected Hogan's men to spend much more time in custody."

"There is no need for that," the General replied dismissively. "We know what happened. Major Oberholzer left his post without authorization. He defected to England, and when he came back with some crazy notion about Hogan being the cause of all his troubles, he contacted no one and set about exacting his revenge in secret."

Klink's eyes had widened during Burkhalter's explanation. "He _defected_?" he gasped.

"He was obviously unstable," Burkhalter continued. "A not atypical Gestapo trait," he added, thinking about his conversation with Hochstetter. "What does the hospital say about Hogan?"

"They want him out tomorrow," Klink said. He shivered inwardly; Hogan didn't look remotely ready to leave his hospital bed. "They say they need the room for Germans."

Burkhalter nodded. "As it should be," he agreed. "What did he have to say when you saw him?"

_I shot him. _"Very little," Klink replied, trying to ignore Hogan's words echoing in his head. "He was barely conscious."

"There will be much to ask him. Of course we know that Hogan and his men would have acted out of self-defense. It will be quite simple to clear them of any wrongdoing."

"But Major Oberholzer was a German officer…" Klink protested in a breath.

Burkhalter's face took on an exasperated expression. "And a traitor! I consider what Hogan's men did a _favor_ to the Third Reich. And if you know what's good for you, Klink, you will, too. It could be quite _chilly_ for you if you think otherwise."

Klink swallowed, hard. The implication of what Burkhalter was saying hit him full in the face. Hogan and his men were to be considered blameless—whether they actually were or not—because that would save Klink and Burkhalter from a sudden transfer to the Russian front! Klink started nodding furiously. "Yes, General. It was a favor. A very good favor."

"Klink, shut up."

"Yes, sir. Shutting up."

"Get some sleep. You will probably have to face Hochstetter in the morning. And for that, you will need to be in full command of your faculties—or as full as you can manage."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"They're not around!" Scotty reported softly to the others. "They must have been faster than we thought."

Baker, Thomas and Goldman all huddled in closer as they moved into the shelter of the trees. "We've gotta get them back before someone discovers them missing!" Goldman said.

"They were going to hold over at the first stop for a couple of hours, so if we can reach them there, we should be able to bring them back before roll call," Thomas observed.

"Can we get a message to them?" Goldman asked.

Baker shook his head. "No—these people don't have a radio. But I know a fast way to get there. I'll go get them."

"No way; I'll go," Scotty countered.

"Why you?"

"'Cuz I hate trying to figure out the radio. Goldman, you come with me. Baker—I'm not touching those switches!"

Baker couldn't stop the grin that made its way onto his face. Now he knew what Kinch always went through. "Okay, that's fine. I'll take the radio. Just make sure you bring those fellas _home_!"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The newly-returned prisoners stood panting in the tunnel as Goldman secured the latch above their heads. "So what do we know?" Olsen asked. One of a thousand questions that they'd had no time to ask when Scotty and Goldman had appeared out of nowhere, telling them that they had to get back to camp—_now_.

"Not much," Baker admitted. "But Schultz says Colonel Hogan and the others have been found. We didn't want to take a chance that we might blow everything here if the Krauts suddenly discovered more men missing."

Foster nodded. "Good call."

Olsen pursed his lips. "You know… part of me was actually looking forward to getting back to England," he admitted softly.

"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "Me, too. I'd kind of… convinced myself that it was better than being here in this rat hole with guns pointed at me all the time."

Goldman nodded. "I know what you mean. But…"

Finally, Foster asked quietly, "What if they've found him… and he's too badly hurt to come back? Or…"

The men let the unspoken thought hang in the air for a few seconds. Then Scotty said, "The Colonel will never tell. He's been through more without breathing a word."

"We don't _know_ what he's been through this time, Scotty," Olsen admitted. "But I'd rather take my chances here that it'll work out in our favor, than never know what could have been, if I went home."

Foster nodded, slowly at first, then more quickly as he built up his own strength and determination. "Me, too," he said. "I'll take my chances. Colonel Hogan's never let us down before." Suddenly his mind flew to that last mission he'd been on when Colonel Hogan was snatched from behind them. He remembered Hogan's hand on his arm, and the way the Colonel was constantly looking out for them, his eyes darting all around them in his efforts to see that they all got home safely. "No matter what kind of mess he's been in, he's not gonna let anything happen because of him."

The others smiled, feeling better for having aired their fears and dispensed with them. Then Thomas said, "Look, I hate to break this up… but if we don't get up top soon, we're not gonna get any sleep before it's time to try and sweet talk our favorite roly-poly Kraut."

A light laugh confirmed an end to the tension. Still smiling, and with even a bit of an impromptu song about rotund German guards, the group headed back up to the barracks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The silence of Klink's entrance into the room was intended not to disturb Hogan if he was sleeping. What it did instead was give the Kommandant a true glimpse of the American's current condition, something that made him feel guilty when he considered what he had come to do. Hogan was not asleep; on the contrary, he wasn't even in bed. He was sitting in a chair, dressed in his uniform, including a shirt that Klink had had Schultz bring from camp, alternately curling into himself and biting his lip to stifle his groans, or momentarily sitting up straighter to try and take in a full breath. Neither position really had its advantages, and neither seemed more comfortable than the other, Klink observed: Hogan would no sooner move one way, then he would grimace and return to the other position.

Klink was unwillingly filled with compassion. Hogan needed rest, and, clearly, medication for his pain. He was being denied both now because of a decree that comfort and care should only be given to the Master Race, to the fine German people. The very people who had put Hogan in this condition. Klink's fists clenched as Hogan stifled a moan. _Verdammt, Hogan,_ the Kommandant thought, both anxious and annoyed. _How is it that you always challenge me to blur the line between what I am told to believe… and what I feel?_

Finally, Klink couldn't bear to witness any more, and he rattled the doorknob that he suddenly realized he had never let go of, praying that Hogan's well-documented need for privacy would react to the noise by the Colonel making an astounding and instant recovery, even if it was all an act.

The ploy worked. Not as convincingly as Klink would have liked, but Hogan at least opened his eyes and tried to stop moving incessantly. His expression tight and unwelcoming, Hogan locked gazes with his visitor for just a second before his head was forced back down.

In spite of himself, Klink felt forced to act. Closing the door behind him, he came and bent down beside Hogan. He could see tears shining on Hogan's eyelashes as he breathed in short, sharp hisses through his gritted teeth. His face was flushed, and Klink was sure he could feel heat radiating from him, but Hogan was not sweating. _A fever… infection…_ the Kommandant concluded. In spite of himself, he worried.

"What… izzit?" Hogan gasped eventually, throwing a split-second glance at the silent man beside him.

Forced to find something to say, Klink opted for the simple facts: "You're returning to camp with me today, Hogan."

Hogan's response was a breathy exhale of a laugh, abruptly cut off by an involuntary gasp as he bit his lip so hard Klink saw a trickle of blood erupt around his teeth.

Klink waited a moment before he said in a softer voice, "The doctor says you're not in any danger. The bullet missed your vital organs."

"Glad… to hear it." A single tear escaped Hogan's tightly shut eyes as his head bowed even lower.

"He also says… that Major Oberholzer seemed to have been injecting you with some kind of narcotic that was designed to slow your heartbeat and suppress your reflexes. That's why you were finding it so hard to breathe. He says it should ease up fairly soon now that it is no longer being administered."

Hogan didn't bother to answer. Both men remained silent for a few moments. Finally, Hogan raised his head and asked tiredly, "My men?"

Klink waited as Hogan took in and let out a few controlled breaths. "They're on their way back to camp now. Schultz picked them up from Gestapo Headquarters." Hogan's mouth started working, but words were hard to come by. Klink inserted the answer to the question he thought Hogan was trying to ask. "They're all right, Hogan. They are tired and hungry, but they are fine. I've told Schultz to make sure they're looked after when they get back to Stalag 13."

Hogan nodded once and closed his eyes, ran his tongue carefully over his cut lip.

"Hogan," Klink began. He stopped. Perhaps this wasn't the right time.

But either curiosity or a need to distract himself made Hogan prompt him to go on. He opened his eyes but didn't look up at Klink. "What?" he asked abruptly.

Klink debated excusing himself and leaving, but there was something in Hogan's demeanor that gave him pause. In spite of everything he had been through, Hogan had not leveled a single accusation at anyone. Maybe it was that the American wasn't well enough, maybe he was too confused by everything that had happened. But Klink had a feeling that wasn't the reason, and that Hogan was simply going to go forward, letting bygones be bygones "for the good of the men," as he always seemed to. If Hogan could continue to do this, after what he and his men had just been through, then Klink resolved to be strong enough to say his piece.

"You—you went out of camp, Hogan. You escaped," Klink began.

Hogan's breathing got louder as he regulated his outward response to his discomfort. Finally, he growled, "I was gonna… come back." His fists curled even tighter as he took a clearly painful breath. "Oberholzer… stopped me."

"But you _left_, Hogan. Why did you _leave_? It was foolish. There has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13." Klink almost winced at how lame he sounded to his own ears.

"Told you…" Hogan panted. He pushed himself up to look Klink in the face, his eyes bright, his cheeks damp: "my men… were in trouble. I… had… to find them."

Hogan suddenly choked out a breath and then clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as a strong wave of pain washed through him. When it diminished, his body relaxed and he turned tiredly to Klink. "What are you… trying to say?" he asked, exhausted.

Klink nodded and finally plowed in. "You were right about your men, Hogan. They hadn't tried to escape. You know them better than I gave you credit for." A pause. "The next time, I will believe you."

Hogan answered, looking hard-pressed to keep his eyes open. "Let's not… have a 'next time.'"

Klink smile tightly. "No. Let's not." He stood up, not sure where to go next. Finally, he retreated back to the facts. "We need to go, Hogan."

"I'm ready," Hogan answered, in a voice so weak that the words were laughable. He closed his eyes, as though needing to gather his strength to stand, and then positioned his feet firmly on the floor. But he could move no farther, and his head drooped in weary defeat. He opened his eyes as he felt a hand grip his arm.

"Let me help you," Klink said.

Hogan nodded and let Klink draw him gently up from the chair, trying very hard to stifle a cry when stretching his wounded body knifed pain through him. Finally standing, Hogan ran a hand across his face and waited for the lightheadedness to stop before he tried to take a step. "Thanks," he panted.

Klink nodded brusquely, trying to mask the emotion that had come over him during this little interaction. "You're welcome." He waited until Hogan seemed steady on his feet, then the two of them started out of the room, Klink not letting go of Hogan's arm, and Hogan, surprisingly, not complaining about it.

The American officer looked distinctly grey when they reached the car. Klink helped Hogan into the passenger seat, then went around and got behind the wheel to drive back to camp. Stealing a glance at his prisoner before heading off, he said, "I'll make it as smooth as I can, Hogan," though he wasn't exactly sure why he felt he needed to tell him that.

Hogan merely nodded once.

They drove for some time, Klink deep in his own thoughts. Finally, he said aloud, in a clear attempt to detach himself from his feelings, "There will be consequences for leaving camp without permission."

His eyes closed and heading toward sleep, Hogan managed to reply, "No… cooler. Okay?" The feebleness of his voice worried Klink. "Spent enough… time… locked away."

"We'll see," Klink replied, trying to sound firm but sure he wasn't being very convincing. He waited for the protest. When there wasn't one, he looked at his passenger and found Hogan still, his breathing uncomfortable but steady. _Sleep, Hogan. That is an escape I will not deprive you of._

Then Klink turned his eyes back to the road, and, trying to block out any thoughts of what might have been, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel and finished the drive back to camp.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan leaned against the frame of the door to his office, looking out into the darkened common room. There was little he could see by the dim light that came from behind him out into the barracks, but it didn't matter, not really; he _knew_ his men were there, sleeping peacefully, soundly. Safely.

"You are up very late, sir. It is not good for you."

Hogan was startled by the voice next to him. He strained to see Corporal Le Beau had managed to make it to his side undetected. _Quiet as a mouse,_ Hogan thought, automatically proud of the man's stealth. He shrugged in the darkness. "I'll sleep in tomorrow."

Le Beau snorted a laugh. "Right."

"You're up late, too," Hogan observed.

"I can never sleep when you are prowling around."

"Was I prowling?" Hogan asked.

"You always prowl when you have something on your mind. What are you thinking about?"

Hogan shook his head. "I dunno."

Le Beau frowned. "Are you hurting, _Colonel_? I will go get Wilson for you."

"No, Louis, it's not that. I'm almost a hundred percent now."

_Almost,_ Le Beau noted.

Before he could answer, Hogan continued, "I'm just… thinking how good it is to stand here and know everyone is back where they belong. This place looked pretty empty for awhile."

Le Beau nodded silently. When he and Carter had been captured by Oberholzer, he suspected the Colonel would take it hard. When Kinch, and then Newkirk, had also been taken, the Frenchman knew that Hogan would be left on his own. But he had always assumed that the Colonel would easily pick up the pieces with other operatives and move on. Now, he fully realized what had become abundantly clear when they were at the factory: that as much as the men depended on Hogan, he depended on them. As much as they wanted him as their leader, he wanted to have _them_ to lead. As much danger as he routinely had to put them in as part of his job, he wanted them safe. And he had proven that beyond the shadow of a doubt by his actions in Hammelburg.

"It is strange to be happy to be back here," Le Beau admitted. "But I am."

Hogan nodded and let out a long breath through his nose. "So am I."

The pair went silent for awhile, each lost in his own thoughts. Then Le Beau said, "I'd better get back to bed. I have to cook for Burkhalter's sister and Klink tomorrow."

Hogan laughed softly. "You'll need all your strength for that, Le Beau," he agreed.

"You notice _Frau_ Linkmeyer is not so shy about coming to camp now that her brother and Klink are off the hook with Berlin," Le Beau scoffed.

"Yep," Hogan said, crossing his arms in front of him. "Lucky for us Burkhalter's sense of self-preservation is so strong. He was more than happy to agree that Oberholzer was a traitor with a particularly finely-honed sense of revenge."

"Well, _everything_ we told the interrogators was not a lie—Oberholzer _did_ go to England and come back."

"True; we just didn't mention that it wasn't his idea to go in the first place." Hogan's small smile disappeared. "It could have gone bad, Le Beau," he said in a whisper. "It could have gone _really_ bad."

"I didn't think it went really _good_, Colonel," the Frenchman answered.

"No, I suppose it didn't," Hogan conceded.

Another voice in the darkness. "Don't you guys plan to sleep tonight?"

Hogan's eyes darted immediately to the source of the sound. "Sorry, Carter. We didn't mean to wake you."

"That's okay," came the Sergeant's sleepy voice. "I was gonna get up soon anyway."

"What, in five or six hours?" Le Beau asked, amused.

"Probably. What are you fellas doing in the dark?"

Hogan smiled softly. "Just talking, Carter. Go back to sleep."

"Hey, I wonder if London's gonna give us another big job soon."

"Do you always think about this at midnight?" Le Beau retorted.

Hogan heard Carter's feet touch the floor. "Well, gee, yeah. When I'm awake. I mean, I'm usually awake at this hour _because_ of London, so it wouldn't be unusual for me to be thinking about it at midnight—"

"Carter…"

"Sorry, Colonel."

"London will give us a job when they need us." Hogan paused, thinking back to the job that indirectly got him and his men into their mess with Oberholzer in the first place.

"Well, gee, it's sure been a long time—three weeks!"

"Don't complain; we've earned the break. Besides, they're probably too busy counting their prisoners over and over again to make sure they haven't missed anyone." Hogan shook his head. "They sure weren't happy when I reported that Oberholzer had gotten out."

"Because it showed up a weakness in their system," Carter proposed.

Hogan clenched his fists, glad that his men couldn't see him. "There are weaknesses in the Krauts' system, too," he said. "That's why men escape from _Luft _Stalags."

Le Beau piped up, "Well, I, for one, would like _London's_ system to be _fool-proof_."

"Me, too, Le Beau," Hogan answered. _But no system is… which means someday, this could happen again… and we might not be so lucky._

_Please, God, next time… let us be ready._


End file.
